


From This Day Forward: Trust and Tribulations

by flawedamythyst



Series: From This Day Forward [3]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Arranged Marriage, Deaf Clint Barton, Disabled Bucky Barnes, Domestic Violence, M/M, Minor James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark, Minor Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, PTSD, Past Child Abuse, Past Torture, Regency Ball, Slow Burn, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23109382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: This was a man who actually loved Clint. A man who was kind and patient and braved his own demons without letting them make him cruel, and he had seen something in Clint that had caused him to love him. Clint couldn’t imagine what, but that didn't change the truth shining out of Bucky's eyes.He had no idea how to respond to it.Clint's decision to try and make a real marriage with Bucky doesn't come without its difficulties.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: From This Day Forward [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1638448
Comments: 248
Kudos: 661
Collections: Winterhawk Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know I say this on every fic, but Nny and CB are amazing and helped with every step of this, and I love them.
> 
> Written for the 'sign language' square of my Winterhawk Bingo card.
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> Header by drgirlfriend. 

Clint lay awake in the dark for a long time, his heart thumping in his chest and a disconcerting mix of fear and excitement rushing through his body, before he was able to calm down enough to trust that Bucky wasn’t going to take advantage of the unlocked door between their rooms to come in and-

Clint wasn’t sure what would come after that, only that he was waiting for his space to be invaded now that the way was open.

Instead, Bucky stayed safely on his side of the wall, just as he had promised, and just as Clint had known he would but had still needed to test, just in case. The dog stayed slumbering on his cushions, the house stayed quiet and dark, and eventually Clint let himself fall asleep.

The next morning Clint woke up and his first incredulous thought was, _I kissed Bucky_. His second thought was for the dog, and he tumbled out of his bed as soon as he remembered him, collapsing to his knees next to the dog bed Coulson had helped him make from cushions.

The dog was awake and lifted his head to look at Clint. He may have whined, Clint couldn’t be sure with his ears still half-asleep, but his eyes were bright and alert, and it was clear he had pulled through the danger of the fever.

“You’re a good boy,” Clint told him, and ran his hand gently over the dog’s ears. “Such a good boy. You’re doing so well.”

Ever since he and Kate had frightened off the village boys and found that what they’d been beating was a dog, there had been breathless anticipation curled up in Clint’s chest. He’d wanted a dog for so long and with so little hope of it ever happening that he’d pushed the whole idea down and tried to forget about it, but it had surged back up with twice the strength as he’d carried the dog through the woods to the doghouse. It had grown even stronger when Bucky had let him bring him indoors, even up to his room, and rearranged all the servants around them to make sure the dog had the best care.

Now that the dog was alive and likely to stay so, and it was clear that Clint could keep him if he wished, that anticipation exploded in his chest, filling him with exhilaration. This was his dog. His very own dog.

“You’re the best boy, aren’t you?” he said to the dog, picking up the cloth to drip some water in his mouth and then, when the dog made it clear he was able to lift his head and lap at it, picking up the bowl so he could drink his fill directly from it. “My good boy,” added Clint, and grinned at the dog as he lay his head back down, clearly tired out and still in pain.

Clint ran his hand over the dog’s fur, checking the bandages were all still clean and dry.

“I’m going to call you Lucky,” he decided, “because we’ve both been very lucky to find ourselves here.”

The dog let out a whiffling sigh, then let his eyes drop shut.

There was a knock from the door separating Clint’s bedroom from Bucky’s and a rush of fear shot down Clint’s spine. A fear without any basis because no one who knocked would mean any harm. It was the people who burst in already raging that were to be scared of.

Besides, it could only be one person, and Clint was beginning to realise that he’d never have to be scared of him.

“Come in!” he called.

The door opened cautiously, as if Bucky wasn’t sure that his presence was welcome. He was still in his nightshirt, although he had put a dark red dressing gown over the top, and his hair hadn’t yet been combed into its usual order.

_I kissed that man last night,_ thought Clint, and the memory of that stolen moment in the dark sent a flush of warmth through him.

“Good morning,” said Bucky, signing along with his words. He stayed in the doorway, not coming in any further although Clint could see from the look in his eyes that he wanted to.

Clint smiled as he signed it back. “Good morning.”

“I wanted to check the dog was still doing well,” said Bucky, but he didn’t take his eyes off Clint to glance at Lucky.

“He seems to be,” said Clint, looking back down at Lucky. He didn’t think he’d ever wished so hard for someone to get better. He wanted to take him for walks and throw sticks for him on the lawn, and be the one that he chose to curl up next to in the evenings. “He’s had some water, which I think must be a good sign.”

“That seems likely,” said Bucky, finally looking at the dog. “Dum-Dum said he’d come back to look him over as soon as he was up this morning.”

Clint nodded, resting a hand on Lucky’s fur. The soft look of caring on Bucky’s face was making something warm and shivery seep into his chest. “Do you want to pet him?” he asked, because he didn’t know how to ask Bucky to come closer, and he definitely didn’t know how to go over to him himself.

“If it won’t hurt him,” said Bucky, and finally moved away from the doorway, coming in close enough to kneel down next to Clint. The sleeve of his dressing gown brushed against Clint’s nightshirt as he reached out a hand and Clint couldn’t help but lean in closer to his shoulder.

He didn’t understand the strange feeling in the air, something like the anticipation before a storm but concentrated on the space between him and Bucky. It was exciting and enticing, and completely terrifying. Clint wasn’t sure he was ready to give in to it yet.

“I gave him a name,” he said. “Lucky.”

Bucky let out a half-laugh that was almost too quiet for Clint to hear.

“Lucky,” he repeated, then looked down at the dog and said something in a comforting tone that Clint didn’t catch, but was clearly aimed at Lucky rather than him anyway.

“You said yesterday that I could keep him,” Clint said, and Bucky turned his smile on him.

“You don’t need my permission,” he said. He said things like that a lot and it seemed like he believed them. Clint didn’t know how to point out that if Bucky ever did decide he didn’t want Clint to do something, there was no way that he’d be able to do it anyway. He may not need Bucky’s permission, but he did need his continued willingness not to set any boundaries on Clint’s life.

“Then you should tell me what the rules are,” Clint said rather than point that out, “because I will want to have him with me as much as possible. Are there rooms you don’t want him in? I can keep him off the furniture if you want.”

It would break Clint’s heart though, because he wanted to sit on the sofa in the evening with Lucky lying next to him, head in his lap, and he wanted to go to sleep with the warm weight of him at the end of his bed, and he wanted... God. He wanted so much. He wanted to have this beautiful, good boy with him as often as he could.

Bucky shook his head and said something that got lost in the movement of his hair. Clint grimaced with frustration and Bucky must have caught it because he repeated himself. “There are no rules. This is your home, you may do as you wish. And so may your dog.”

Clint nodded, wondering if the rules would appear once Lucky did something Bucky didn’t like, and wishing that he’d be explicit now so that Clint could keep that from happening in the first place.

_He won’t hurt a dog,_ he reminded himself. And it seemed pretty certain now that he wouldn’t hurt Clint either. If Lucky did anger him, Clint didn’t think Bucky would take it out on either of them.

“Thank you,” he said and, because he had dared so much last night and wasn’t going to run scared now, he reached out to take Bucky’s hand and squeeze it in thanks.

The smile that took over Bucky’s face nearly took Clint’s breath away. He wondered how long it would take before he became used to just how handsome his husband was and then decided that he hoped he never did. The feeling of awe that came with these little moments when Bucky looked particularly beautiful was something Clint was coming to treasure.

“You’re very welcome,” said Bucky. “You can have anything you want.” He hesitated, and then added, “I love you,” and just like last night, hearing the words sent a rush of pleasure through Clint. All of Bucky’s actions since they’d married served as proof of his words, but hearing them aloud was still a surprise. 

This was a man who actually loved Clint. A man who was kind and patient and braved his own demons without letting them make him cruel, and he had seen something in Clint that had caused him to love him. Clint couldn’t imagine what, but that didn't change the truth shining out of Bucky's eyes.

He had no idea how to respond to it, however. Luckily, he was saved from having to find words by Coulson coming into the room, presumably to open the curtains and make sure Clint was awake. He stopped in the doorway when he saw Clint and Bucky, both still in their nightclothes and kneeling together next to Lucky holding hands.

“I’m terribly sorry, sirs,” he said, and walked back out, shutting the door behind him.

The moment was lost, though. Clint let go of Bucky’s hand, not sure what he should be doing if he couldn’t say the words back, but Bucky’s smile didn’t dim as he stood up. Clint stood up as well, because he didn’t particularly like having someone towering over him as he sat.

“I should dress,” said Bucky. “I will see you at breakfast.”

Clint hesitated, looking down at Lucky, because he’d prefer not to leave him just yet.

“You’ve eaten every meal up here since yesterday morning,” Bucky reminded him. “And Dum-Dum will be here to take care of him.”

Clint let out a long breath and nodded. “At breakfast, then,” he agreed. Bucky was still smiling at him and he looked so handsome and carefree that Clint found it easy to lean in and press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” he said again, because being allowed to keep Lucky was a gift he didn’t think Bucky fully understood the value of.

Bucky’s smile somehow widened even further, and his cheeks went faintly pink. “You may rescue every injured animal in the county if doing so means you kiss me.”

Clint didn’t know how to answer that either, but he didn’t need to because Bucky went back to his room, closing the door behind him. Clint let out a long sigh and looked down at Lucky, who had his eyes open again and was looking up at him.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he confessed.

Lucky just kept giving him the same steady, affectionate gaze. Clint smiled at him, then sank back down to pet him a bit more, and see if he’d drink some more water. Dressing could wait a little longer.

****

Clint was later down to breakfast than he’d intended, but Bucky still smiled when he came in. All the anxiety that had been hovering in Clint’s throat once he realised just how much time he’d lost taking care of Lucky settled down, and he smiled back. Of course Bucky wasn’t going to be angry about Clint being late. Clint should know that by now.

“Did Dugan arrive?” Bucky asked as Clint sat down. He was already pouring Clint a mug of coffee and Clint reached out to pick it up as soon as it was full. God, even the smell of the stuff was heavenly, how had he gone so far through his life without it?

“Yes,” said Clint as the footman brought over his breakfast and set it on the table. “He said Lucky was doing well and that he should recover well, although without his eye he’ll never be as he was.”

“None of us are as we were,” said Bucky. “But that won’t stop us from finding happiness, and the same goes for Lucky. Especially now that he’s been fortunate enough to meet you.”

There was a layer of emotion in his voice of pleasure and affection mixed together that Clint wasn’t sure how to cope with, so he just ducked his head and concentrated on his breakfast until the moment had passed.

Bucky let a couple of minutes go by as they both ate, but he’d started eating before Clint came down and was finished far earlier than Clint was. He set his fork down and watched Clint for a moment, then cleared his throat. 

“Last night,” he said, hesitantly, and Clint felt himself twitch because that late-night moment, and the way Bucky’s lips had felt against his, was still at the forefront of his mind.

He’d never really considered what his first kiss might be like because for a long time he hadn’t imagined he’d ever have one, and then when the marriage had been arranged, he’d been more focused on the other things he thought Bucky would expect from him. However, if he had ever fantasised about a kiss, he thought last night would have far exceeded it.

It all seemed like a dream, starting with the dim light in the room, lit only by Clint’s candle and the stars and moon outside because Bucky’s curtains had been open, and ending with the way Bucky had looked at him after Clint had plucked up the courage, as if he were something miraculous. There had been a shadow of that look on his face that morning as well, when Clint had kissed his cheek, and Clint wondered if he’d always look like that when Clint kissed him.

Surely not. It would become old news after a few times.

Still, it made Clint want to do it again, to see that look and taste Bucky’s lips and feel the surge of excitement, as if he were doing something dangerous and exhilarating like climbing too high up a tree. 

“Yes?” asked Clint, screwing up his courage because he’d started this now and he didn’t want to make Bucky think he didn’t want it.

“Did you mean it?” asked Bucky. “Do you really want to take that path? I am content to be just friends, if that’s what you want.”

Clint eyed him for a moment, the way he was trying to look casual but his jaw was clenched. “No, you’re not,” he said.

Bucky blinked, and then let out a half-laugh. “No, I’m not,” he agreed. “I love you, and I want to be a husband to you in every way you’d allow. But if you want to just keep to friends, then I will do that and count myself lucky to have that much.”

Clint looked at his face, at the blue-grey of his eyes and the strong line of his jaw, and took a deep breath. How did Bucky find it so easy to be clear about his feelings when Clint found just asking for what Bucky had already offered so hard?

“I do want it,” he said. “I'm sure you’re an excellent friend, but I would like to try being more.” Bucky’s face lit up with a look of joy that took Clint’s breath away and he reached out to wrap his hand around one of Clint’s. “But slowly,” added Clint, even as he turned his hand so he could hold Bucky’s back. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“I don’t think anyone really does until they do it,” said Bucky, “but we will go exactly as fast as you want, and no faster. Any time you want me to stop, or slow down, just say. I don’t ever want you to feel uncomfortable, Clint.”

He squeezed Clint’s hand and Clint squeezed back, breathing heavily around the emotions in his chest. This could all be a horrible mistake, because what if Clint discovered he didn’t feel anything more than friendship for Bucky after all? Bucky would be furious or hurt, and Clint didn’t want to see either.

He just focused on the radiant look on Bucky’s face and the way it made warmth settle in his stomach, and told himself he wouldn’t ever need to worry about that.

****

For the first time since it had been built, Clint didn’t go to his range that day. He took one look at Lucky, still looking so sad and pained, and stayed in his room all day. Bucky rode over to the nearest town to deal with some business so Clint ate lunch alone in his room, feeding as much of it to Lucky as he could coax him into. He wrote to his mother and Natasha, filling both letters with detailed descriptions of Lucky, and then went over all his bows and arrows, making sure they were in perfect condition.

By the time he was finished, it was time to dress for dinner. Clint was reluctant to leave Lucky but he also hadn’t seen Bucky since breakfast and he was surprised to realise how much he had missed him.

There was a thrill of anticipation that came with the idea of spending the evening with him now that they had agreed to move toward a deeper relationship. Clint had never experienced anything like it.

“You’re going to be alright,” he said to Lucky once he was dressed, crouching by him and pretending he couldn’t see the look of distress on Coulson’s face. He wasn’t going to get dog hair on his dinner jacket and even if he did, it would be worth it to get to pet Lucky one last time before he went down. “This nice man is going to stay with you.” He glanced up at the footman who had been tasked with dog sitting duty. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure of your name.”

“My name is Daniel, sir,” said the footman, and he signed along with easy, fluid movements that made Clint think that Coulson’s lessons were going rather well in the servants hall. It was for the best because Clint’s ears were having a bad day. Not that he’d really needed them much whilst he’d been alone with Lucky, working on his archery equipment.

“Daniel,” said Clint, standing up from Lucky. “Take good care of him and let me know the instant anything happens. Don’t leave him alone to come yourself, send someone else.”

“Of course, sir,” said Daniel, and Clint suspected he wasn’t meant to detect the edge of amusement. He may not be able to hear it, but he could see the way Daniel’s mouth twitched, even as he tried to keep his face to the usual blank slate that was expected from servants.

Maybe Clint was being a little overprotective but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Lucky surviving and Clint getting to keep him was far too much of a good thing to be part of Clint’s life. It felt inevitable that something bad would happen to ruin it.

Clint just nodded at Daniel, gave Lucky one last, lingering look, then forced himself to leave. He wouldn’t see Bucky if he stayed in his room, after all.

****

Bucky was waiting for Clint in the drawing room, drink already in hand, and he stood up when Clint came in, smiling at him as if he’d felt the day's separation as much as Clint had.

“Good evening,” he said, signing it awkwardly with his drink still in his hand, then set the glass down to add, “How was your day?”

“It was excellent,” said Clint, signing back. “Lucky gets better with every hour.”

“Fantastic news,” said Bucky, but he didn’t know the sign for news just yet, and Clint had to rely on the shape of his lips.

He hesitated before forcing himself to make himself vulnerable, yet again, because so far Bucky hadn’t taken advantage of it. “My ears are not doing as well tonight,” he said. “My apologies if I miss anything.”

Bucky shook his head. “No apologies for things we can’t help,” he said, and signed the words he knew as he spoke. “Do you want Coulson to translate?”

Clint considered that, but he didn’t particularly want a servant, even one as discreet as Coulson, to know exactly what they said to each other. “No, I’ll be fine.”

“It’s a good opportunity for me to learn more signs, then,” said Bucky, smiling. “And adapt them to work for me. One day we will have created a whole language.”

Clint wasn’t sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, he rather liked the idea of a private language with Bucky, but on the other, he still hated that he had to be pandered to like this. If his ears would just _work_ , none of this would be necessary.

Or if his father had just kept his fists to himself, rather than unleashing his rage on a small boy who didn’t deserve it.

“This is the sign for language,” he said, rather than say that. If Bucky wanted to learn then Clint would teach him. He didn’t have much else he could offer him, after all. He moved his hands slowly enough for Bucky to take in the movement. “How shall we adapt it?”

Conversation was slow when they had to stop and decide on a sign every time they came up against vocabulary Bucky didn’t have yet, but that didn’t stop Clint from having fun, talking and laughing with Bucky as they worked the signs out.

By the time they’d eaten and settled in the parlour, he was feeling comfortable enough to sit next to Bucky on the sofa rather than in the chair across from him where he usually sat in the evenings. He wanted to be closer than normal and not just so that he could see Bucky’s lips more easily to read his words.

Bucky beamed at him. “I bought you a present in town,” he said, and he now had enough signs to make the whole sentence.

“A present?” asked Clint. “Haven’t you given me enough?”

Bucky shook his head. “Never,” he said, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. “Besides, this is as much for Lucky, who I haven’t brought any presents for yet.”

Clint looked at the purple ribbon tying the box shut and wondered how he’d ever manage to deserve all of this. He needed to find something he could give Bucky in return at some point.

He opened the box to find a collar of purple leather in the same shade as his bedroom furnishings. A metal circle hung from it, engraved with a ring of arrows surrounding Lucky’s name.

“It’s perfect,” he said, and looked up at Bucky to see him smiling just as widely as Clint was. His chest was so full of emotions that he didn’t know what else to say, so he gave in to his immediate urge and leaned in to kiss Bucky’s cheek. Bucky’s smile turned pink-cheeked and he reached out to touch Clint’s hand briefly, as if he couldn’t stop himself.

“Lucky’s a good boy,” he said. “He deserves the best.”

Bucky didn’t know the sign for ‘good boy’ and that was unacceptable, because Lucky was the best boy and needed to be told that in every language possible. Clint set the collar in his lap so that he could show him.

****

It was late when they headed to bed but they still lingered by the table between their doors, the one that always had a vase of fresh flowers on it. Clint wondered if they were in tribute to the horse in the picture that hung above it, Bucky’s first horse who he’d obviously loved, and had lost in Spain.

“I hope Lucky likes his present,” said Bucky, and his signing was far more fluent already, after just one evening of lessons.

Clint looked down at the collar in his hands and smiled. “I’m sure he will,” he said, then hesitated and found himself adding, “You could come in and see him in it?”

He regretted it a moment later because the anticipation that flooded his body at the idea of Bucky being in his room so late at night was tinged with more fear than excitement. Clint had been so clear that he needed to go slow when he’d spoken to Bucky, why hadn’t he paid attention to his own words?

Bucky looked sorely tempted but shook his head, and relief rolled through Clint. “I’m sure Lucky is fast asleep now, and he needs to rest,” he said. “I’ll see you both in the morning.”

Clint nodded, clenching his fingers around the collar and cursing himself. Why was this so hard? He knew he wanted to get closer to Bucky so why did the idea of it also terrify him? 

“Of course,” he said and then, before he could second guess himself, leaned in to press another kiss against Bucky’s cheek. The rough feel of his stubble made Clint’s lips tingle and he couldn’t resist following it with a kiss against Bucky’s lips so that he could feel the contrast of their softness. Bucky moved in to return the kiss, his hand gently resting on Clint’s arm, but as soon as Clint stepped back he let go.

Clint cleared his throat to hide his emotions. “Good night.”

“Good night,” said Bucky, and he was so completely lit up with happiness that Clint didn’t know if he could stand to look at him. 

He escaped into his room, where Lucky was fast asleep and Daniel the footman was looking halfway there himself, hopefully enough so that he didn’t notice the blush heating up Clint’s face.

****

Clint stayed in his room with Lucky again the next morning. Lucky spent more time awake and seemed determined to move despite his injuries, so Clint did his best to keep him distracted and as still as possible. He needed time to heal.

Around mid-morning, Clint heard a crash from the room next door, followed by a curse word loud enough for even Clint’s ears to pick up. He flinched automatically, but Bucky sounded more frustrated than angry. He looked at Lucky, who stared back, and reminded himself that he had had no reason so far to be afraid of his husband.

He stood up and moved closer to the door, hovering awkwardly, not sure what to do. “Are you well?” he called through the door.

There was a pause, then Bucky called something back, but Clint didn’t get a word of it with the door in between them. He took a deep breath and pulled the door open, wondering how many times he’d do so before it stopped feeling like he was taking his life in his hands.

Bucky was slumped on the end of his bed, his forehead pressed into his hand, but he looked up as Clint came in, then straightened as if trying to hide his clear despondency. A small table that stood next to his dressing table was tipped over, the lamp that usually stood on it in pieces on the floor.

“I’m fine,” said Bucky, in a tone that implied he was repeating himself. “You don’t need to worry.”

“Are you?” asked Clint. “It doesn’t seem so.” He walked over to pick up the table and set it on its feet.

“I’m _fine_ ,” gritted out Bucky, and his frustration came out just enough like anger for Clint’s heart to start beating double time. White-hot fear flashed through him, so sharp and sudden that it felt like a lightning strike. He took a step towards the door to remind himself that he could get away at any time.

Bucky’s expression went black and he dropped his head again, rubbing at his forehead. “Sorry,” he said miserably, then signed the word as well. “Sorry, please. Just go.”

Clint wanted to go so badly, but he took the time to really look at Bucky. He was still wearing his riding prosthetic but it was lying at an odd angle and his shirt was rumpled as if he’d been pulling on it in frustration.

“Do you want me to call Falsworth to help you?” he asked.

“It’s his day off,” said Bucky, glumly.

That explained rather a lot. Bucky’s reliance on Falsworth, both with the small tasks that the loss of his arm made difficult and on a more emotional level, hadn’t been immediately apparent, but Clint had been at Brooklyn long enough to have noticed it by now.

“Who usually helps you when he’s off?” asked Clint.

Bucky let out a sigh and glared down at his prosthetic. “Morita, but I forgot to ask him when I was at the stables.”

Clint didn’t bother asking why he hadn’t just rung for a footman. Bucky didn’t trust any of the staff like he trusted those few who had been soldiers with him. After hearing how they had come to rescue him, Clint could understand that.

“I’ll help you then,” he said and stepped closer to Bucky. “Just explain what I need to do, and-” 

“No!” snapped Bucky, glaring at him as if he had suggested cutting off his other arm. “Don’t touch me!”

Clint froze still, terror surging through him in a way he’d once been so used to but that he’d almost forgotten in the weeks he’d been at Brooklyn. “Sorry,” he said, “I’m sorry.” He stepped back. “I didn’t mean- I’m sorry.”

Oh god, he’d finally managed to do it. He’d pushed Bucky to his limit and now he was going to hurt Clint. It felt like his lungs were closing up and he tried to breathe through it but his mind was too full of blinding panic to concentrate on it. How had he thought this wouldn’t happen? Of course it would end like this, Clint was too annoying for people not to want to hurt him.

The anger fell off Bucky’s face to be replaced by a broken look. He blinked then shook his head, ducking his head. “Just leave, please,” he said, and Clint scrambled to obey, scuttling for the door between their rooms and shutting it behind him as softly as possible so that he wouldn’t anger Bucky further.

Lucky lifted his head to look at Clint as he leaned back against the door, trying to regain his breath and calm the terror surging through his body and closing up his throat. Through the door, he heard a wordless cry of frustration, followed by something shattering, and his heart leapt to his mouth, thumping hard enough to pound his ribs.

Without even thinking about it, he flicked the lock closed on the door, then pulled the key out and clasped it tightly in his hand.

There had never been a lock on his door at Waverley Hall. Right now, Clint was all too aware that there wasn’t one on the main door to this room, either.

Lucky whined and Clint stumbled across the room to fall to his knees at his side. “It’s alright,” he said in a whisper, “it’s going to be alright, Lucky. You’re such a good boy.” He stroked over Lucky’s fur. “Good boy, Lucky.”

He stayed kneeling there until he could feel his body cramping up from the way he was hunched over, braced for a blow that wasn’t coming right now but could at any moment if Bucky decided to come in. He strained his ears for anything from the other room, but there was nothing. He had no idea if that was because Bucky had left, because he was being quiet, or because Clint’s ears were useless. He just kept stroking Lucky until his breathing had calmed down, then squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to cry.

God, when he looked back at the moment, it wasn’t anywhere near bad enough to warrant this level of fear. Bucky had been frustrated by his own limitations, not by Clint. He hadn’t made any move to hurt him or even looked as if he wanted to. Clint was just being a coward.

It took another half an hour before Clint could bring himself to move from Lucky’s side, and that was only because Coulson came in.

“Mr Barnes,” he said with a little bow, and Clint plastered on a pleasant smile, like the ones they had always used at Waverley Hall to try and pretend that the servants didn’t know exactly what was going on. “Lieutenant Barnes asked me to let you know that he’s gone to visit Reverend Wilson and Captain Rogers for lunch, and he won’t be back until late. He expects to stay for dinner as well.”

Clint abruptly relaxed and then tried to hide it. “Ah, very well.”

“Cook asked if there was anything in particular you would like for dinner, as you’re dining alone,” continued Coulson, but Clint couldn’t even begin to think about food right now.

“Whatever she has is fine,” he said. “And, let her know I won’t need lunch,” he added.

Coulson pressed his lips together, but nodded. “Very well, sir,” he said, and left.

Clint let out a long breath and looked down at Lucky. Lucky looked back with a quiet look of tiredness, then shut his eyes, resting his head on his paws.

Yes, a nap seemed like an excellent idea. Now that the fear and excitement had fled Clint’s body and he knew Bucky wasn’t around, he was as exhausted as if he’d run a mile.

And once he woke up, he’d start to work out what he was going to do when Bucky returned.

****

He was able to think about the incident far more rationally once he’d slept. It was as much his fault as Bucky’s, he decided. More, perhaps, because he should have known better than to bother Bucky when he didn’t want help or approach him when he’d clearly been feeling vulnerable. No wonder Bucky had run to his friends to get away.

At around four, Wilkins, the butler, came to Clint’s room and announced that Reverend Wilson was downstairs.

Clint stared at him blankly. “Did you tell him that the Lieutenant has gone to his house?”

“Yes sir,” said Wilkins. “The Reverend has come to see you.”

Oh god. Was he going to tell Clint off for upsetting Bucky?

“Very well,” said Clint. “I’ll be right down.”

“Very good, sir,” said Wilkins. “Would you like tea served?”

Yes, that was the polite thing to do when someone called on you. “Yes, in the small drawing room, please,” said Clint, because it got the best light at this time of day and, besides, the large drawing room had too many memories of Bucky right now, from all the drinks they’d shared before dinner. All the smiles and laughter they’d exchanged as they slowly got used to each other, and which Clint had now spoilt.

_I can fix this,_ he told himself, then smoothed a hand over his hair, checked his outfit to make sure it wasn’t too badly covered in dog hair, and went down to greet his visitor.

****

Wilkins had already shown Wilson to the small drawing room and he was standing at the window, looking out at the view. He turned to face Clint before he greeted him. “Mr Barnes.”

“Reverend,” said Clint as politely as he could. “I hope you are well.”

“I was rather better before I had your husband in my house, throwing his emotions everywhere,” said Wilson. So he _had_ come to tell Clint off for agitating Bucky.

Clint winced. “I’m sorry,” he said, miserably. “I shouldn’t have upset him.”

Wilson raised an eyebrow. “He was saying the same thing about you. He’s heavily steeped in guilt and recrimination, so I thought I would come up here and make sure you’re well. It seemed like you might need a friend.”

Clint stared at him for a long moment. “Ah,” he said carefully, wondering if he should point out that Wilson was Bucky’s friend, not his. Clint didn’t have friends.

There was a knock on the door and the maids came in with tea and cakes before Clint could find a place to start with all that. Wilson smiled at the maids as they set the tea things down, looking relaxed and easy, and Clint found it in himself to move forward and sit down, waving at Wilson to do the same.

“Listen,” said Wilson, once the room was empty again, “if you don’t want to talk to me about this, that’s fine. We can discuss the weather for the length of a cup of tea and then I’ll leave. But I think you’ll find that it helps to talk these things through with a third party, and I can promise I won’t mention anything you say to Barnes.”

Clint considered that for the length of time it took to pour tea for Wilson and himself. “What did he tell you?” he hedged, because he had no idea what one was meant to share with a friend about the inner workings of a marriage.

“Not as much as he’s telling Steve,” said Wilson, “but enough. He was having a bad day with his arm, Falsworth wasn’t around to help and he got frustrated with the prosthetic and ended up breaking a lamp. You came in and he-” he hesitated and added, “It can be no secret to you that he wants to impress you. He doesn’t want you to see any weakness from him.”

Clint hadn’t consciously noticed that but once it had been said, he could see that it was true. Bucky had wanted Clint to leave him alone while he was having his episode in the boathouse and he’d arranged their whole lives so that Clint never saw any sign of him struggling with anything. Until this morning.

“He keeps telling me it’s not weakness to allow others to help us,” he said.

Wilson gave a sad smile. “It’s much easier to give that advice to others than to take it yourself,” he said. “At any rate, he was already frustrated and then lost his grip on his temper, and you… You don’t react well to anger.” He said the last sentence very delicately, but in a way that made it clear that he knew why. Clint supposed that everyone knew why, or at least everyone Bucky was friends with. It seemed they’d all taken part in Bucky’s quest to marry Clint in one way or another, and so they knew everything about what his situation at home had been.

“No,” he agreed, and then decided he wasn’t going to beat around the bush. “It reminds me too much of my father.” He paused, but Wilson was still giving him a calm, open look that seemed to imply he could say anything, and Clint was so sick of all the secrets he’d been carrying. “I get scared very easily,” he said. “My father has made me a coward. One raised voice and all I can think about is how to get away.”

“That doesn’t make you a coward,” said Wilson, softly. 

Clint just shook his head because he didn’t want to dissect his own behaviour right now. “So Bucky isn’t still angry with me?”

Wilson snorted. “He was never angry with you,” he said. “He was angry with himself. He still is, but I don’t think he’s even capable of being angry with you.”

A knot of stress in Clint’s chest loosened. “Oh,” he said, and took a sip of tea to cover his reaction.

He really should have asked Wilkins to bring coffee as well as tea. Now that he knew there was a superior hot drink, he wasn’t sure why people wasted time with tea.

“Look,” said Wilson, “I do try not to get involved with other people’s relationships. I know some vicars think it is their god-given right to meddle, but I always feel that it’s best to let these things work themselves out in their own way. That said, I really think you should know that Barnes is at my house, bewailing to Steve that he doesn’t deserve to ever set foot in the same house as you again because he’s a terrible man who can’t control his anger.”

Clint winced. “He’s an idiot,” he said. “God, he is _such_ an idiot. I’m not worth half as much as he seems to think. A tenth as much.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry that you and Captain Rogers have become involved in this,” he added.

Wilson rolled his eyes. “Steve and Bucky have been involved in everything the other has done since they were 7,” he said. “And I knew that when I became close to Steve. Being involved isn’t the problem. Having Bucky arrive at my house vibrating with emotions isn’t even the problem. The problem is that neither of you seem to realise that talking to other people is all well and good but if you both keep trying to hide your vulnerabilities from each other, you’ll never get anywhere.”

Clint wasn’t sure how he felt about that because Wilson was probably right, but Clint didn’t think he’d really been hiding much of anything from Bucky. Even if he’d tried to, Bucky paid far too much attention to him for Clint to have any secrets. “What kind of thing do you think Bucky’s hiding?” he asked, because that was far more interesting than Clint’s fears.

Wilson looked at him for a long moment, then sighed and glanced out of the window. “I think you already know,” he said. “He went through an awful experience, one that would have broken most men. It has left him with more than just physical scars and one of the ways it changed him was to make him angrier than he used to be. When I first met him, he used to have blinding bursts of pure fury at nothing at all that would be over within minutes. He has got better since then, much better, but sometimes it’s still the way he reacts to his frustrations.”

Clint thought about the broken lamp. “A marriage between a man who experiences sudden bouts of anger and a man who crumbles at a raised voice seems like a terrible prospect,” he said, miserably.

“Only if you don’t talk about it,” said Wilson. “Barnes wants to make you happy. It’s the most important thing to him. If you talk to him and you both work together to try and work out some solution: a sign he can give you that he’s becoming overwhelmed, or a way for you to calm him before it gets that far, I don’t know. Something you can both agree on. If you can do that, I firmly believe that you can both be happy in this marriage.”

Clint wasn’t so sure about that but he nodded. It sounded like a nice idea, anyhow.

Wilson looked at him and sighed. “And until then, my door is always open to you,” he said. “Both of you. If you ever need to get away, or just to talk to someone, you are always welcome in my home.”

Clint had never had anywhere like that. The idea that he could just leave if things were making him terrified and go to see a friend melted even more of his tension. “Thank you,” he managed, then picked up the plate. “Cake?”

Wilson gave him an understanding smile as he took one. “Time to talk about the weather?” he asked.

“It looks as if it might rain later on,” said Clint without so much as glancing out at the sky.

Wilson laughed. “Yes, that’s usually a good bet in this country,” he agreed.

****

It was a long, lonely evening without Bucky at home. Even if Clint wasn’t sure if he wanted to see him just yet or what he should say when he did, he had got used to spending time with someone he could talk to easily and laugh with, and eating alone and then spending the evening reading a book while watching Lucky sleep was not at all the same.

It was strange to think that less than three months ago, the idea of being alone with only servants for a night would have been bliss.

He went to bed early and lay awake, thinking about what Wilson had said. He was probably right that he and Bucky needed to talk. Clint just had no idea how to go about that, so he pushed the whole thought aside to be dealt with later, and resolutely started thinking about the walks he was going to take Lucky on once he was well.

The next morning Clint ate breakfast alone as well because Bucky had ended up spending the night at Reverend Wilson’s. He looked out of the window at the bright sun and decided he was sick of not going to the range. Lucky was well enough to be carried downstairs and besides, dogs deserved to go outside, even when they weren’t well enough to run about.

He carried Lucky down himself, then directed Daniel to bring over one of the chairs from the veranda and set a cushion on it for him to lay Lucky down on where he’d be comfortable. Lucky raised his face to the sky and gave a happy little tongue-lolling pant at the feel of wind on his fur and Clint knew he’d made the right decision.

“Prepare to be impressed, Lucky,” he said, picking up his bow and setting an arrow to it. Lucky set his chin on his paws, watching with interest as Clint drew back and shot.

The arrow landed in the centre of the target and Clint glanced over at Lucky to find he’d shut his eye and looked to be preparing for a nap.

“It’s a good thing we named the horse Arrow and not you,” he said. Lucky continued to ignore him in favour of sleep.

Clint gave up on impressing a dog and settled in to his usual routine. First ten shots with his right arm drawing, then ten with his left, just to warm up, then ten shots with two arrows at a time, then-

A voice murmured behind him and he swung around with surprise, two arrows still nocked on his bow.

Bucky was standing behind Lucky’s chair, staring at Clint with the wide-eyed look he always had when he watched Clint shoot, although it fell off his face as he focused on the arrows pointing at him instead.

“Sorry,” said Clint, and dropped his aim to the ground.

Bucky shook his head. “If having a weapon trained on me makes you feel safer,” he started, and the self-recrimination was so thick in his voice that even Clint’s ears could hear it, “then you should feel free.”

Clint let out a sigh, then turned back to the range and let loose the arrows, hitting two perfect bullseyes before turning back to Bucky. 

“We both know you won’t hurt me,” he said, setting the bow down on the table. As he said it, he realised how true it was. Bucky wasn’t going to hurt him, not even when he was angry. Even yesterday, he’d snapped but he hadn’t even made a move towards Clint.

Bucky’s eyes were trained on the targets with a glazed look but he looked back at Clint with a bitter, miserable expression that made Clint want to walk over and embrace him. He tucked the impulse away in his chest to be examined later and stayed where he was.

“I already have,” said Bucky, ducking his head in a way that made his lips difficult to read so that Clint only caught half of his next sentence. He didn’t need more than that, though, because he’d heard Bucky say the same thing before, more than once. “...to London, if you want.”

“You keep offering that,” said Clint. “I’m beginning to think you just want to go to London and are looking for permission.”

Bucky raised his head immediately, which made understanding his words much easier. “No, Clint, of course I don’t. I want to stay wherever you are for as long as you’ll allow me but I want you to know you have the choice. I want you to feel safe.”

Clint considered that. “I do feel safe,” he realised. “Safer than I ever thought I would be.”

He looked at Lucky, who had woken up at some point and was squirming as if trying to see both of them at once. When he realised Clint was looking, he lolled out his tongue, then moved his legs, trying to get them under him. Clint was about to stride over to stop him when Bucky leaned over the back of the chair to run his hand over Lucky’s fur.

“Hey, hey, calm…” Clint heard him say, then other quiet, comforting words that he didn’t properly hear. Lucky sighed and settled, clearly deciding that if he was getting petted, he didn’t need to bother with the pain of standing up.

Clint watched the gentle way Bucky was touching Lucky and made a decision.

“Wilson thinks we need to talk,” he said, and Bucky looked back at him with his hand still resting on Lucky’s flank. 

“Wilson should know better than to meddle in my business,” he said with a scowl, then amended himself. “Our business.”

“No, he’s right,” said Clint. “We’re both hiding from the hard parts of making this work, and that won’t do. Not in the long term.”

Bucky sighed and glanced back at Lucky. He said something, but the wind caught it so that Clint couldn’t hear more than the last word. “...right.”

There was resignation on Bucky’s face that made Clint decide he was agreeing.

“Not here, though,” said Clint. “Inside, where I can hear better.”

Bucky looked back at him with what looked like the beginnings of an apology on his tongue, clearly having forgotten that the outdoors was not always the best place for Clint’s ears. Clint couldn’t be bothered to hear it.

“And later, at lunch,” he added. “I haven’t been at my range for two whole days and I’m not interrupting this now.”

Bucky found a smile, although it was a pale shadow of his usual one. “I’ll ask Cook to prepare your favourite,” he said, pitching his voice louder than he had been.

Clint smirked. “You weren’t here,” he reminded him. “She already is.”

Bucky laughed, and the sound rang across the grounds loudly enough for Clint to hear every note. He smiled with satisfaction that he had pushed back at least some of his melancholy and picked his bow up again. “And now, if you don’t mind…”

“Of course not,” said Bucky, gesturing at the targets. He hesitated and then added, “Do you mind if I stay to watch?”

Clint shrugged as he picked up another two arrows. “As long as you don’t interrupt me, you can do what you like.”

****

By the time Clint needed to stop for lunch, Bucky was settled in his own chair next to Lucky’s, still petting him absently as his eyes followed every move Clint made with a contented smile settled on his face. Clint hadn’t realised just how much he would enjoy having an audience and had found himself showing off more than he would have expected, adding flourishes and dramatic pauses and then glancing over to check Bucky was still paying attention.

Bucky was always paying attention. 

When he finally set his bow down Bucky actually looked disappointed, although Clint would have expected him to have grown bored long ago. It had been well over an hour, after all.

“Time to go in,” he said, going over to stroke Lucky.

Bucky nodded and stood up, looking down at Lucky.

“I suppose you will want him present while we eat.”

Clint couldn’t work out Bucky's feelings on that from his tone but he had been petting Lucky for quite some time so he felt like he could risk nodding. “But I can take him back to my room first if you’d prefer,” he added before he could stop himself.

Bucky’s smile was fond but there was an edge of frustration to it. “Whatever you want,” he reminded Clint.

Clint nodded, wondering if he'd ever manage to believe that enough to trust it. He bent down to carefully scoop Lucky up in his arms. “Would you bring the cushion for me?"

Bucky picked it up and followed him to the morning room that they usually ate lunch in. He settled the cushion on the floor near Clint’s seat, then gave a bow as he gestured to it. “Your throne awaits,” he said to Lucky.

Clint snorted as he set Lucky down. When he looked up, Bucky was giving him a look he didn’t know how to quantify, one filled with affection and yearning but complicated by something else, something heated.

For some reason it made Clint feel flushed, so he cleared his throat and moved to sit down.

“Can you hear better in here?” Bucky asked as he sat opposite him.

Clint nodded. “My ears are fairly well-behaved today,” he said. “It was just the wind outside.” 

And Bucky’s tendency to mumble when he was apologising, but Clint wasn’t confident enough yet to point that out. Now they were indoors and he didn't have a bow in his hands, he was starting to feel the twisting anxiety that he was going to do or say the wrong thing. Talking about this hadn't seemed so daunting when Reverend Wilson had suggested it. 

The footmen came in with lunch and a maid brought a bowl of water and some food for Lucky. Clint and Bucky sat in silence until they had the room to themselves. Clint tried to think of a way to start the conversation they needed to have but he had no idea how, so instead he picked up his cutlery and started on the meal.

“Steve said that I should explain to you exactly why I reacted as I did yesterday,” said Bucky. “I told him he was an idiot, but I think what you said earlier about us needing to broach the harder parts of this was right.”

Clint looked up but Bucky was staring at his plate, mouth pulled down unhappily.

“If I know what makes you angry, I can avoid it,” he pointed out.

Bucky scowled. “You shouldn’t have to amend your behaviour for me.”

“Why not?” asked Clint. “You’ve amended yours for me.” Bucky glanced up, looking caught out as if he hadn’t thought Clint would notice just how hard he usually worked to make Clint feel safe. Clint had let himself get used to how he spoke in calm, easy tones and tried to avoid startling him, and if he did so forced himself to stay relaxed so that Clint had time to get over his initial reaction. That was probably why hearing him snap like he had yesterday had been such a shock. He hadn’t been expecting it.

Bucky shook his head. “It’s different,” he said. “Keeping a lid on my temper is something I should be doing anyway. You shouldn’t have to change yourself just to keep me from scaring you.”

Clint considered that for a few moments, taking another bite of food. “Yesterday morning, I could tell you were frustrated,” he said. “I tried to help and it backfired.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Bucky insisted. “It was mine. And, Clint,” he set his fork down as emotion bled into his voice, “please, you have to believe me. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to ever make you scared of me.”

“I’m not,” said Clint.

“You were,” countered Bucky. “In that moment, I looked up and I saw it. You were terrified of me.” He took a deep breath and for a moment it sounded as if he might cry. “I can’t ever let that happen again.”

“Then tell me why it happened,” said Clint. “What did I do? Was it being there at all? Was it something I said? Should I have kept my distance or said something different? Please, Bucky. We can’t fix this if we don’t talk about it.”

Bucky rubbed his hand over his eyes, hiding his expression for a moment, then he took a deep breath. “Very well,” he said in a thick voice. “When I realised there was no one to help, I thought I’d be able to remove the prosthetic myself but it was a struggle and all I did was break the lamp. I was frustrated; more than that, I was furious. I hate not being able to do these things for myself but usually I am able to pretend it’s all fine because Falsworth does everything for me and, well. A valet is there to do these things. He does many of the things that my valet before I went to Spain did: fixes my cravat, ties my shoes, makes sure I look neat and presentable. I’m able to pretend that it’s all the same thing and that the extra help he gives me, with my prosthetics and so on, is just an extension of that.”

Clint nodded slowly because he could understand wanting to just pretend that all was fine. “And then I came in,” he said.

Bucky nodded, then gave Clint a heartfelt look. “I don’t ever want you to see me as deficient,” he said. “Clint, I love you. I’ve wanted this for so long and I want so badly for you to see the best of me. I couldn’t bear to have you looking at me when I was like that, and then you offered to help take the prosthetic off, and you’d have seen the- seen what remains, my scars.” He was crying now, silent tears rolling down his cheeks and Clint couldn't stand just watching. He reached out and took Bucky’s hand and Bucky clutched at his fingers as if they were a lifeline. “I want to be whole for you but I’m not,” he said, struggling to keep in his sobs. “You deserve so much better.”

Clint wasn't sure he deserved anything, but that didn't seem like an argument that would persuade Bucky, and rather missed the point besides.

He squeezed Bucky’s hand, as much for his own reassurance as Bucky’s. It was hard to say a man who usually seemed so self-assured break down so far. 

"You are already so much more than I could have imagined," he said. "I don't care about your arm, except that it makes things hard for you."

Bucky pulled his hand away from Clint's grip to scrub at his eyes. "This is ridiculous," he said. "I'm sorry for unloading all this on you, you shouldn't have to deal with this."

Clint watched as Bucky forced down his emotions and buttoned them all up again and thought about all the times he'd kept quiet or put on a fake smile in an attempt to do the same.

"If we're going to be close, I think this is exactly what I should be dealing with," he said. "The Reverend was right. If we want to move on when these things happen, we need to talk about them." He met Bucky's eyes with determination. "Next time you are feeling frustrated, you need to tell me so I can be more careful. What would you like me to do? Leave you alone?"

Bucky shook his head tiredly but he didn't argue. "It shouldn't be you that has to go," he said. "It's my issue. I will leave you alone."

Clint nodded. "Very well."

"And if I ever do anything that scares you, please let me know," said Bucky. "I will do anything I can to make you feel safe here."

"I do feel safe here," said Clint, because Brooklyn felt like an oasis after the constant fear of Waverley Hall.

Bucky gave him an utterly miserable look. "Clint, you locked the door."

Clint tensed. "Did you try to open it?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual as fear sparked through him.

"No!" said Bucky immediately and Clint relaxed. "Of course not. I heard it click."

Clint had forgotten that most people could hear that kind of thing.

"You were just starting to trust me and I ruined it," said Bucky grimly. Clint was beginning to see what Reverend Wilson had meant yesterday about Bucky drowning in his guilt.

"I still trust you," said Clint. "You didn't hurt me. I overreacted." Bucky was already shaking his head but Clint didn't let him start denying it. "Bucky, listen. We both react badly to certain things. I didn't need to hide from you just because you raised your voice and deep down I knew that, but I can't always control my reactions."

Bucky looked at him for a long moment, as if searching for a hint that Clint was lying to him. "Very well," he said, eventually. "Then, what do you need to make you feel safe if a similar situation arises? A lock on the other door to your room so you know no one will be able to enter?" He frowned, "No, a bolt, and another on the door between our rooms. Then you needn't worry that there’s a duplicate key."

The thought was so similar to the one Clint had had at the time that he couldn't keep in a smile. Bucky was so clearly committed to Clint's safety, how could he ever have been scared of him?

But he had been, and he would be again in a similar situation because he didn’t know how to cope with raised voices without running away. He wondered how long it would be before he was able to stand his ground, or even raise his voice back like other people did.

Even if it took years, he wasn’t going to hurt Bucky now by telling him he needed a fortress against him. “No need,” he said, then glanced at where Lucky was fast asleep on his cushion. “I have a watchdog now, after all.”

Bucky followed his gaze and his lips twitched into a smile. “He is very frightening,” he said in a serious tone. “It’s hard to imagine how you could be better protected.”

There was a tap on the door and Wilkins came in with a tray. “Lieutenant Barnes, Mr Barnes. The post has arrived.”

Clint let out a breath, both annoyed and relieved by the intrusion. It felt like a reprieve from a difficult and emotional conversation but it had felt like that part had already been over, and they were starting to settle into the happy, flirty kind of conversation that seemed to occur whenever they were alone together now. He was finding himself enjoying those conversations more and more every day.

“Thank you,” said Bucky, and he took the letters from the tray. He flicked through them and passed two to Clint. 

Even after several weeks, Clint still wasn’t used to receiving letters so often. He recognised the writing on the first as his mother’s and tucked it away to be read later. The second was addressed to _The Honourable Mr & Lieutenant Barnes_.

“This one is to both of us,” he said.

“Your name comes first,” Bucky pointed out. “I thought you’d like to open it.”

It was true that the small amount of post they’d received addressed to both of them, mostly congratulation cards after their wedding, had had Bucky’s name first. Clint supposed that most people felt he was the more important, given his history as a decorated officer and Clint’s as a reclusive second son.

Clint touched the curves of his new name, unable to hold in a smile. He’d thought it would take him a while to get used to being a Barnes but every time he saw it or heard it, it felt better. He wasn’t a Barton any more. He’d left all that behind him.

He knew that most people in his position would see it as a significant step down to have left one of the oldest families in the country and the long history of the Barons of Waverley to join Bucky’s family, who were farmers until only a few generations ago. Clint couldn’t see it like that however, not when he’d gone from being defined as his father’s son to being Bucky’s husband. Not being a Barton anymore was a powerful sign of just how thoroughly he’d escaped his father.

Clint pulled open the envelope to reveal a cream-coloured card.

_The company of_

_The Honourable Mr & Lieutenant Barnes _

_is requested at Shield House for a ball on October 4th, at 6pm._

“We’ve been invited to a ball,” he said blankly, staring at his name on the invitation. He’d never actually received one before, even if Natasha said he’d been invited to several.

“Oh?” asked Bucky, still going through his own post. “By whom?”

“Colonel Fury,” said Clint. “Well, more likely by Natasha.”

“Oh yes, they usually hold a ball around this time,” said Bucky. “I’ve gone every year I could in the hopes of seeing you there.” He gave Clint a smile. “As I will be seeing you either way, it’s up to you whether or not we go.”

Clint looked at the invitation again. His first invitation to his first ball. He wondered if he was meant to be feeling this strange mixture of giddy excitement and mild dread. “I’ve never been to a ball.”

“They can be fun,” said Bucky and Clint looked up from the invitation to see him watching Clint rather carefully. “They are noisy and usually too crowded, but this one will be rather smaller than others we might be invited to, especially those organised by Stark. It would be a good one to start with, although I would understand if you didn’t want to go.”

“I want to go,” said Clint. He remembered being the boy on the outside at his brother’s 21st birthday, sent to bed before the guests arrived and then watching through the windows as everyone else had fun. It was entirely likely that his ears wouldn’t enjoy the noise of music and chatter, but the boy he had been would never forgive him for letting this chance go. “You’ll be with me if I need any help, won’t you?”

“Of course,” said Bucky. “I'll be right by your side all night, sweetheart.”

There was the tiniest pause as they both processed that and then Bucky went red and ducked his head, clearly as surprised by the pet name as Clint was.

“Sorry,” he said gruffly.

Clint cleared his throat, setting the invitation down. He wondered if he’d ever get used to the constant stream of small signs that Bucky really loved him as much as he said he did. 

“It’s fine,” he said, then added, “You may call me that if you wish,” because the affectionate tone of Bucky’s voice as he’d said it had been enough to send warmth suffusing Clint’s chest, and he was more than happy to hear it again.

Bucky looked up with surprise then smiled at him, embarrassment clearly forgotten. “Then you should show me the sign for it, sweetheart, so I can call you that whenever I like.”

Clint felt his own cheeks start to flush, but he obligingly raised his hands to show him. He was meant to be enlarging Bucky’s vocabulary, after all.

****

After lunch, Clint went back to his range. Bucky helped him get Lucky settled back on his chair but didn't stay to watch again.

"I missed my ride this morning," he said.

Clint nodded, because it had become clear that Bucky's daily ride was as important to him as time at the range was to Clint.

"I'll see you before dinner," said Bucky, but he was hesitating as if he didn't want to leave just yet. "Have a good afternoon," he added. 

"You too," said Clint, then dared himself to reach out and touch Bucky's arm because it was clear he wasn't going to risk making that move himself. 

Bucky's shoulders relaxed and he gave Clint a relieved smile. Seeing just how fully he reacted to the slightest move from Clint gave him the courage to lean in and kiss him.

"Clint," he breathed and Clint managed a smile then stepped away, picking up his bow.

"Say hello to Alpine for me," he said, and Bucky took it as the hint it was and left.

Clint let out a long breath, trying to calm the pace of his heart down. Kissing Bucky out here, where anyone could see them felt very different from kissing him inside. 

He found he rather liked it.


	2. Chapter 2

That evening when Clint came down for the usual pre-dinner drink, Bucky looked at him with a wide smile and signed, “Good evening, sweetheart,” with the kind of casual ease that made Clint think he had been practicing the new sign.

Clint did his best to hide his reaction to it but he had a feeling from Bucky’s satisfied smile that his cheeks had gone pink.

“Good evening, handsome,” he signed back, as much in retaliation as anything, although it seemed only fitting that if Bucky were going to have a pet name for Clint, he should have one in return.

And the man was undeniably handsome.

Bucky frowned and repeated the sign for handsome. “I don’t know that one,” he said out loud.

Clint just smiled. “Oh, don’t you?” he asked, and walked over to where Bucky had his usual drink ready for him.

Bucky said something as Clint picked it up but his ears didn’t catch it. Clint turned to him and raised an eyebrow, wondering how long it would be before they could hold entire conversations in sign language. He remembered how it had felt like having a secret language when he and Barney had first learnt and thought that he’d much prefer to have a secret language with Bucky than the man Barney had turned into.

Bucky must have caught the look on Clint’s face because he repeated himself in a clearer tone. “I could always just ask Coulson.”

“But you won’t,” said Clint, with confidence. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. Just a nickname.”

A nickname he didn’t want to share just yet, because he wasn’t sure he wanted to give that much away. Apart from anything else, Bucky felt so strongly for Clint that he didn’t want to risk giving him false hope about Clint’s own feelings, not until he was completely certain of them.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, then he sighed. “Fine,” he agreed. “I won’t ask Coulson. But you will tell me one day.”

Clint nodded his agreement, then changed the subject more clumsily than he’d intended. “I wrote back to Colonel Fury to accept his and Natasha’s invitation.”

Bucky let the subject change without comment. “We’ll travel down the day before,” he said. “I expect Steve and Reverend Wilson will be going as well, perhaps we can travel together.” He hesitated before adding, “Would you like to arrange a visit to your parents while we are in the area?”

“No,” said Clint immediately, and then reconsidered, because he would like to see his mother. Their letters to each other had opened up a side of her that he hadn’t been able to see while he’d been living with her. The constant threat of upsetting the Baron in some way or another had kept all conversations at Waverley Hall as short and as bland as possible.

“We can make time if you wish,” said Bucky, watching him carefully. “And I would go with you. No harm will come to you as long as I am by your side.”

Clint managed a smile for him before shaking his head. “That’s not a promise anyone can make.”

Of course, it wasn’t as if there were any reason for Clint’s father to be angry with him now, not when Clint’s marriage had brought him money to shore up the crumbling state of the Waverley estate. Not for the first time, Clint wondered just how much Bucky had paid to marry him, but pushed the thought away when his chest started to feel constricted. He’d spent a lot of time carefully not thinking about that side of their marriage, because the realisation of just how much he owed Bucky for getting him out of his father’s house was too much to face head on.

“I will arrange a visit another time,” he said. “Let us concentrate on the ball for now.” A thought had struck him as he’d been replying to Natasha and he took a deep breath before letting it out, trying to sound as casual as he could. “I’m not sure I have any clothes suitable for it.”

Bucky just nodded. “I’ll arrange for my tailor to come,” he said easily, and Clint let out a breath he’d known he didn’t need to hold in. He hadn’t yet managed to shake the fear that asking for things would result in anger, as it had with his father, but he thought that as long as Bucky kept being so free and easy with showering Clint with whatever he needed, he might one day learn to just enjoy it.

Bucky must have caught Clint’s moment of trepidation, because he gave him a careful look, then added, “You should order anything else you might need as well. Riding clothes, perhaps, as you didn’t ride before.” He hesitated, then added, far more casually than Clint felt he meant it, “I noticed your nightshirt was a little short on you, so perhaps a new set of those.”

Clint’s nightshirts had been purchased many years ago, before his final growth spurt. As an item of clothing that wasn’t ever going to be seen and judged by anyone else, there had never been money to replace them. Somehow, in all the rush of preparing for the wedding, no one had stopped to consider that new ones might be appropriate.

Clint thought about buying himself a set that didn’t leave his calves cold, just for himself, and let a smile curl over his lips as he realised he also wanted to make sure that Bucky liked whatever he wore. He ran through the rest of his wardrobe in his mind and wondered what else a gentleman might have when he didn’t have to worry about his father’s wrath if he spent too much money. More clothes for dining out, almost certainly, but he had no idea what else. He’d have to ask Coulson for suggestions.

“What other social engagements are we likely to attend?” he asked.

Bucky smiled with satisfaction lighting up his face, and it felt like a reward for Clint deciding not to limit himself unnecessarily.

“Whatever you want to go to, sweetheart,” said Bucky. Clint ducked his head at the pet name and wondered how many times he’d hear it before it stopped making him flush with warmth. “I haven’t been particularly social since I returned from Spain, but I am rich enough for society in the county to still send me invitations, and if we went to London there would be a great deal more. We can go to as many or as few events as you’d like. Lord Logan is organising a shooting party next week that we have been invited to, for example. I should imagine you would be excellent with a gun.”

Clint considered that. He’d never been shooting, but then he’d never particularly wanted to. Barney and his father both enjoyed it, but he’d always preferred staying with his bow at his range.

“Do you shoot?“ he asked Bucky, and couldn’t keep from glancing at his folded left sleeve.

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t react well to the sound of gunfire, and I don’t get any joy out of killing now, not even when it’s just birds, but that’s no reason why you shouldn’t attend. Reverend Wilson will be going so you will know someone, and it will be a good chance for you to meet the other local families.”

“I don’t think I want to kill either,” said Clint, draining the last of his drink and setting the glass down. “And I don’t particularly want to socialise without you,” he added, and won himself another dazzling smile. He smiled back, feeling it grow affectionate, and then allowed himself to step closer to Bucky and rest his hand on Bucky’s arm. “Let’s see how this ball goes before I commit to expanding my social circle just yet.”

“Very well, sweetheart,” said Bucky, in a warm tone that made Clint want to duck his head to hide his reaction again. Instead, he made himself hold Bucky’s gaze as he smiled back, letting some of the feelings that were started to grow in his chest show on his face. If they weren’t going to be hiding the darker parts of themselves, the anger and the fear, he felt that he should let Bucky see this part as well, the new and uncertain way that his heart felt whenever Bucky called him ‘sweetheart’, or made it clear that he was willing to offer him anything he wanted.

Wilkins came in to announce dinner and Clint pulled away from Bucky, then hesitated and signed, “May I escort you?” to him, speaking it out loud before adding the sign for, “handsome,” without translating it.

Bucky gave him a narrow-eyed look, but obligingly took his arm. “Always,” he said, and then, as they went through to the dining room, “If you’re going to have a secret name for me, the least you can do is help me come up with one for Wilson. What’s the sign for ‘sanctimonious’?”

Clint just laughed.

****

That night when they went up to bed and paused outside their rooms to say goodnight, Clint was tempted again by the urge to ask Bucky in, but he clamped it down. They’d had a lovely evening, playing cards and laughing. Clint had allowed himself to touch Bucky’s hand or arm whenever he felt the urge, and Bucky’s smile had just sparked brighter and brighter every time he did so.

He didn’t want to spoil the moment by going too fast, not when he still wasn’t sure just how far he was willing for this to go between them. Instead, he set his hand on Bucky’s waist and leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“Good night,” he said, and then, plucking up all his courage, he closed his eyes against the flickering light from the gas lamps and brushed his lips over Bucky’s.

When he pulled back, Bucky was wearing the same pink-cheeked smile he’d had whenever Clint took a step further towards him. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” he said, raising his hand to sign it as well. “I hope you and Lucky both sleep well.”

“You too,” said Clint, and made himself step away, raising his hands to sign, “Good night, handsome,” but not speaking the words out loud.

Bucky’s eyes followed the movement and then looked back at Clint’s face. “That sign you won’t tell me, it is a good thing, right?”

“Oh yes,” said Clint, grinning and signing it again, just because he could, because Bucky was so very handsome and apparently perfectly happy for Clint to keep secrets from him.

Bucky rolled his eyes but he was still smiling. He took Clint’s hand, then raised it to his lips to brush a kiss over it. “Good night, husband,” he said, and that just wasn’t fair, Clint wasn’t prepared to feel that much emotion right now.

He managed a final “Good night,” and escaped into his room, shutting the door behind himself and then taking a moment just to breathe before he crossed over to where Lucky was sleeping by the fire.

“Hey boy,” he said gently as Lucky blinked awake and looked at him. “How are you doing?”

All his wounds seemed to be healing well and other than his obvious exhaustion, which Dugan had said was normal when an animal was recovering, he seemed to be much better than he had been. Clint ran a hand over his fur, giving him the petting that he deserved for staying warm and quiet up here while Clint spent the evening with Bucky.

“You’re a good boy,” he told him. “Such a good boy.”

He felt like he was a thousand miles away from where he had been the previous day, when he’d been alone and scared, and he wondered how he could go between such extremes.

God, he really hoped he and Bucky were able to work around Bucky’s anger and Clint’s fear so that all their evenings ended like this, with Clint feeling like the luckiest man in the country.

****

A couple of days passed with things between Clint and Bucky feeling just as easy. Clint continued to tease Bucky by calling him 'handsome', but not translating it. He kept waiting for Bucky to lose his patience over it, telling himself he was just testing his limits while feeling like he was walking a tightrope, but all Bucky did was roll his eyes or call Clint 'sweetheart' in reply, as if that would dissuade him.

It was on the day that Lucky was finally well enough to limp under his own power from the range to the morning room for lunch, that Bucky said, "The tailor is coming this afternoon."

He was frowning down at the table and tapping his nail against his fork to make a ting-ting-ting noise that Clint could just catch at the edge of his hearing.

Clint nodded. "I'll be ready."

"If you don't get on with him, let me know and we can find you another," said Bucky. He had his shoulders hunched and his face looked tense as he glanced up. Clint wondered if he wasn't looking forward to letting someone get as close to him as a tailor would. He seemed to value having some distance between himself and other people. 

Except for Clint, of course. 

"Just because I like him doesn't mean you will," added Bucky.

"I'm sure it will be fine," said Clint, then let his eyes linger over Bucky's perfectly-fitted riding jacket. "If he's able to make me look a fraction as good as you always do, I'll be well satisfied," he added, hoping to cut through some of Bucky’s tension.

Bucky went faintly pink and Clint thought he'd succeeded, then a footman came in through the door behind him with the day’s letters and Bucky flinched at the noise, catching his hand on his fork and sending it clattering to the ground.

A flash of blind fury passed over his face, and he turned on the footman. "Knock first before disturbing us!" he snapped.

Clint felt himself tense up at the tone of Bucky's voice and he was instantly aware of the three exits to the room, and that using any of them meant leaving Lucky behind. Oh god, it was happening again, what did he do?

"My apologies, sir," said the footman, pausing just inside the room. "Shall I return later?"

Bucky had caught sight of Clint's expression, which must have betrayed his apprehension because Bucky's face tightened with misery.

"No," he said tightly, waving the footman over. "I'm sorry. You startled me."

His sentences were cut off a little too short for him to sound properly contrite, but Clint felt his initial panic fade away anyway, because his father had never once apologised to anyone he’d shouted at.

Clint thought about the conversation he and Bucky had had as the footman left the letters on the table with a little bow, and then left as swiftly as possible. 

"Are you feeling well?" he asked, as carefully as he could. "Would you prefer to be alone?"

Bucky hadn't picked up the letters. His hand was resting palm down on the table as if he were trying to reassure himself of the solidity of the world around him. 

"No," he said. "I'm sorry, that shouldn't have happened."

Clint had no interest in shoulds or shouldn’ts. "We agreed we would be honest if something like this happened," he reminded Bucky, and his heart was in his throat because last time he'd prodded too much when Bucky had been in this tense knife-edge of a mood, Bucky had turned his anger on him. 

He couldn't let it go though, not until he knew whether or not the words they'd exchanged about resolving these kinds of moments had been just that: Words. If Bucky wasn't going to follow through on their agreement, then Clint wanted to know now, so he could resort to just escaping as quickly as possible next time.

Bucky stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. "We did," he agreed tiredly. "And I said I would be the one to leave if I was short-tempered." He stood up. "I'm going to have Falsworth draw me a bath. May I come find you afterwards?"

Clint nodded. "I'll be at the range or with the tailor," he said. Bucky gave a short nod and left, as easily as that.

Clint stared after him, because he hadn't truly believed it would be that simple. Bucky had done exactly what he’d said he’d do, with no need for Clint to do more than speak up so that he realised there was a problem.

He reminded himself that Bucky had kept every promise he'd ever made to Clint, and turned to glance at Lucky, who appeared to have slept through the whole thing. Either he was a terrible guard dog, or he knew Clint had nothing to fear from Bucky.

Clint thought it was probably the latter.

****

A couple of hours had passed and the tailor had been and gone before Bucky came to find Clint.

He'd taken Lucky to meet Arrow and to check the horse was doing well, as Clint hadn't had a chance to ride her since he'd found Lucky. Kate had been doing a good job with her though, and he was stroking her nose and feeding her an apple so she wouldn't transfer all her affections to Kate when Bucky came into the stables.

He was wearing a different outfit and looked rather more relaxed than he had been, although he looked grim when he saw Clint.

"May we talk?"

"Of course," said Clint.

Bucky gave Kate a pointed look and she sighed but obligingly left.

"I would like to apologise for earlier, " said Bucky, rather formally.

"Why?" asked Clint. "You did just as you said you would in that situation. And you already apologised to the footman," he added.

"It shouldn't have happened," said Bucky stubbornly.

Clint shook his head. "We both already know it's not that simple," he said. "There's no point in wasting time blaming yourself when you did the best you could, and kept your promise to me."

Bucky didn't look much happier but he did nod, and Clint was willing to take that for now.

"Do you feel better now?" he asked. "Are you able to tell me what caused it?"

Bucky's shoulders slumped. "My arm was hurting," he said miserably.

Clint couldn't stop his eyes dropping to the empty place where Bucky's arm was missing. 

"I know it makes no sense," said Bucky, "but some days I can feel it as if it were still there, and it hurts all the way down."

"That sounds awful, " said Clint.

Bucky gave him a rueful smile. "Yes," he agreed. 

"Is it better now?"

Bucky nodded. "A hot bath and a rub down of my back and shoulder usually helps," he said. "Falsworth is used to doing both." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter, though. I should not be taking my pain out by being angry at others. I'm sorry, Clint. I'll try harder."

Clint rolled his eyes and turned back to stroking Arrow's neck. "We've already covered that," he pointed out. “No need to repeat yourself.”

Bucky hovered awkwardly for a moment, looking as lost as Clint sometimes felt. "I just want to be better for you," he muttered, low enough that Clint barely caught it.

Clint ran his hand over Arrow's mane again, wondering how to make it clear that it was fine. It was obvious Bucky was more upset about this than Clint was, as if they didn't both know that Bucky was putting everything he could into changing his reactions. 

The answer, when it came to Clint, was obvious. 

"There's time before dinner for a ride," he said. "Will you join me?"

Bucky's face lit up with a smile. "Of course," he said. "I would love to, if you're sure."

Clint had been avoiding riding with Bucky, even after their trip to the river, because the more he saw of the ease Bucky had on a horse, the more intimidated he was when he thought about his own rusty skills. If it would make Bucky smile like that though, he'd happily look like an idiot in front of him.

****

Bucky enjoyed their ride so obviously that Clint proposed another a couple of days later, leaving Lucky in Kate's care and coming back to find him spoilt rotten.

Lucky was doing much better, able to get up and walk around far more, nosing at the surrounding area while Clint was at his range. Clint couldn't help bursting with pride at his recovery whenever he thought about just how close he had come to not making it at all.

"I suppose we'll be taking him to Colonel Fury's," said Bucky one evening after dinner, watching Lucky sprawled out in front of the fireplace. He had a book in his hand, and Clint was meant to be fixing one of his arrows, but they’d spent far more time talking than either of them had on their tasks.

"Do you think that would be alright?" asked Clint, because he'd been bracing himself to have to leave Lucky with Kate for the few days they were spending at Shield House.

Bucky laughed. "Miss Romanov will roll her eyes, but there's no way she'll complain. Not until she feels less guilty for not trying harder to see you when you were younger."

Clint didn't know how to react to that so he carefully ignored it. "Then we'll take him. He won't be any trouble."

"Of course not," agreed Bucky, and he sounded as if he were on the verge of laughter. "Remind me of the sign for 'soft-hearted' will you?"

Clint made a different sign, an insult he used to make fairly frequently at Barney, and felt the familiar prickle of unease that he was going too far and risking angering Bucky. Bucky just laughed harder and made a gesture back that wasn't technically sign language but was easily understandable, then wrapped his arm around Clint's shoulders to pull him in close and press a kiss to his forehead.

Clint raised his chin to repay him with a kiss on the mouth, and they lost the next few minutes in the kind of soft, slow kisses that made Clint want to melt into Bucky's body and just stay there. They were becoming a staple of their evenings together and he found himself anticipating them all day, waiting for the moment when it was just the two of them alone after dinner and they could indulge.

That night, when they paused by the little table between their rooms, Clint leaned in to kiss Bucky goodnight, then let out a sigh and pressed their foreheads together. It was becoming harder and harder to leave him every evening but he still didn't feel ready for the inevitable if he invited Bucky in, or followed him to his room. 

Bucky took Clint's pause as an invitation and pulled him in closer with his arm around Clint's waist, kissing him deeper and deeper until Clint felt his toes curling in his boots and arousal tingling over his skin.

God, one night soon he was going to invite Bucky in, and it would be incredible. 

Not tonight, though. He kissed him again, then stepped back and took a breath. From the flush of Bucky's cheeks, he was feeling the same thing, but he let Clint go and signed, "Good night, sweetheart," without any hint of impatience at the slow pace Clint was keeping them to.

"Good night, handsome," Clint signed back, and couldn't resist one last kiss before he went into his room with Lucky at his heels, clearly impatient about the delay.

When Clint had curled up in bed with Lucky by his feet, he stared up at the canopy of his bed and let himself think about exactly what might happen if - when - he did invite Bucky into his bed.

Given the sheltered nature of his upbringing, he knew he was probably a little naive about the exact relations between two married men, but Barney had told him more than enough over the years for him to be able to picture a few details. His imagination supplied more, as he thought about what he would like to do to Bucky, kissing him harder and touching every part of him, clinging to the solid frame of his body and moving against him like he had wanted to in the corridor. 

Lucky shifted against his feet and Clint caught his breath, struggling to rein his thoughts in. Yes, he was definitely going to take that step with Bucky. One day very soon.

****

Clint wasn't sure if it was the movement or the noise that woke him, but as soon as he was aware enough to take in the terrified yelps Lucky was making as he tried to burrow into Clint's chest, he sat up and gathered the dog into his arms, holding him as tightly as he dared without putting strain on his healing ribs.

"Hey, boy, what's wrong?" he whispered.

There was a flash of lightning outside, bright enough to be seen despite the curtains, then a roll of thunder a few seconds later. Lucky let out a pained noise and tried to push harder into Clint's arms.

"Aw, Lucky, no need to be scared," he said, petting him and feeling how he was trembling. "It's just a storm, you're all safe in here." 

There was another sharp crack of thunder and Lucky gave a panicked yelp.

"Aw, sweetheart," said Clint, wishing there was more he could do.

There was a sharp tap from the door to Bucky's bedroom. "Come in," called Clint and the door swung open to reveal Bucky, wrapped in a dressing gown and carrying a lamp.

Lucky made another sad sound and Clint ran a hand over his ears. "I'm sorry, did he wake you?" he asked, quashing the instinctive fear that Bucky was going to lose his temper and decide Lucky couldn't stay after all. Clint knew him better than that now. "I can try and make him quieter."

Bucky shook his head. "Is he hurt?" he asked in a rough voice, and then cleared his throat and repeated himself louder, although Clint had caught his words the first time.

"Just scared," said Clint. Bucky lifted the lantern higher to see better and Clint caught sight of the tense lines of his face and the way his hand was shaking slightly. He reevaluated his initial assumption that Bucky had been woken by Lucky. "Come and pet him," he said. "Help me calm him down."

Bucky hesitated in the doorway for a moment longer then came inside, letting it close behind him. He set his lamp on Clint's bedside table and reached over to scratch behind Lucky's ears.

He said something quiet and consoling to him that Clint didn't catch, so he concentrated on holding Lucky close and gently petting him.

There was another rumble of thunder and Lucky flinched as he made a pathetic whimpering noise, and he wasn't the only one. Bucky did his best to hide it, but Clint still saw the way his shoulders twitched and his hand clenched in Lucky's fur.

He didn't say anything about it for a minute or two, wondering if he even should. Bucky clearly didn't want to let on that he was finding the storm just as difficult as Lucky was.

There was more thunder and Bucky sucked in a sharp breath, then pressed in closer to Lucky, as if he wanted to climb into Clint’s lap with him.

“Does it sound like cannon fire?” Clint asked carefully, not looking away from stroking over Lucky’s fur.

Bucky shot him a swift look, then sighed. “A little,” he said. “Enough to be uncomfortable, but it’s not that. It was not the battles that have left me a shattered man.”

“You’re not shattered,” said Clint, and took one hand away from Lucky to press against Bucky’s shoulder. “A shattered man wouldn’t be nearly so kind and caring.”

Bucky let out a long breath and moved in closer again, until Lucky was completely surrounded by them both and Clint could reach to encircle his arm around Bucky’s back. Lucky whined at another burst of thunder and Clint felt Bucky shaking and decided they needed to be far closer.

“Come on,” he said, pulling away and then lifting up the edge of the blankets. “Come under here and keep warm.”

The wide-eyed look Bucky gave him was more than worth the invitation. Clint couldn’t keep in a grin. “Come on,” he added, when Bucky didn’t move immediately, too busy staring at Clint.

Bucky stood up to climb under the blankets and Clint moved over in the bed, keeping Lucky in his lap as he did so. Once Bucky was settled in the bed he wrapped an arm around him and pulled him in close to his side, where he could reach to pet Lucky.

The press of Bucky’s body was warm and firm. He started off holding himself stiffly against Clint, but as Clint started talking to Lucky again, keeping his voice low and calming and hoping it would soothe Bucky as well, Bucky’s muscles slowly relaxed until he was slumped into Clint’s side, his hand buried in Lucky’s fur. 

The thunderstorm moved further and further away, until the rumble of thunder was too low for Clint to reliably hear and came so long after the flash of lightning that he stopped counting the seconds. Lucky let out a final whine then lay down fully in Clint’s lap, resting his head on Bucky’s thigh.

Bucky ran his hand over Lucky’s ears and got a sleepy blink in response, then Lucky shut his eyes and Clint realised that he and Bucky were trapped for the moment, unless they wanted to disturb Lucky.

“Thank you for helping me keep him calm,” he said, running his free hand along Lucky’s back. His other arm was still tucked around Bucky, resting gently on his waist.

Bucky let out a sigh and tipped his head to rest against Clint’s shoulder. “Thank you for ... me calm,” he said, voice low enough for Clint to miss the middle of the sentence, but it was enough for him to catch the meaning. 

The lamp on the bedside table flickered as Clint glanced down at his face, casting shadows over it. He squeezed gently at Bucky’s waist, feeling tension sliding out of his body. He hadn’t realised just how lovely it would feel to be cuddled up so closely with Bucky, and he hoped the end of the storm wouldn’t prompt Bucky to leave, not just yet.

Bucky didn’t seem to have any intention of moving if the way he was settled in was anything to go by. A few more minutes passed as Lucky fell more obviously asleep and Bucky stayed right where he was, his hand still resting on Lucky’s fur.

“I wasn’t the only officer on the mission,” he said into the dim space between them, and Clint glanced down at the tired, lost look on his face and braced himself. “The mission to negotiate with El Casco about using his gang of bandits to fight against the French. There was a major as well as me and my men, Major Abascal. He was the one who was meant to be doing the negotiating, but he didn’t get much of a chance.”

He stopped and took a deep breath, and Clint pulled him in closer, then leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. He didn’t say anything because it felt like this was something Bucky needed to get out, and he didn’t want to interrupt him.

“All our men were killed in the ambush,” said Bucky. “The bandits killed them all, even those who were injured or who tried to surrender. They walked around after the fight, putting bullets in the heads of anyone still moving, but they kept me and the major alive and took us off to their hide-out. To the cellar beneath it, half built into a cave and fitted with chains and locks and-” 

His voice broke and he had to stop and take a few breaths. Clint took his hand off Lucky so that he could wrap both arms around Bucky, holding him as if he could shelter him from the horrors he’d lived through.

“Major Abascal had been injured,” Bucky continued after a moment. “The bandits weren’t interested in treating his wounds to keep him alive, so they tortured him to death instead. It took three days.” His voice was flat and level, but Clint could feel him trembling in his arms as he pushed on with his story. “By the end, he couldn’t talk, he could barely even scream. He just made these horrible whimpers, like a trapped animal.”

Like Lucky had been making during the storm, Clint realised. No wonder Bucky had been shaking when he’d knocked on the door.

“He wasn’t much beyond an animal, the things they did to him drove everything else out,” continued Bucky. “When he finally died, I wanted to be relieved that his pain was over, but I was too scared that they were going to start on me instead. I thought I was going to die the same way.” 

His voice had started shaking and Clint couldn’t stand it any longer. He curled in and kissed him.

“You didn’t die, Steve rescued you. You’re safe,” he said.

Bucky nodded. “El Casco had other plans for me, anyway,” he said. “He wanted to keep me as his plaything, torture me for years instead of days. I used to lie in the dark, waiting for him to come and hurt me and wishing I’d been the one to die in a few days, and Major Abascal had been kept alive.” He took a deep breath and turned to look at Clint. “I wouldn’t be here now if I had,” he said. “I wouldn’t be with you.”

The lamplight glinted off wet tracks under his eyes, and Clint leaned in to kiss them, tasting salt on his tongue. “I’m so glad you are,” he said. “I’m so glad I’m married to you.”

Bucky found a smile. “Me too,” he said. “Clint, god. I love you so much.” He tilted his head up and kissed Clint, slowly and thoroughly, wrapping his arm around him and settling in even closer, until they’d dislodged Lucky’s position enough to wake him up. Clint kept hold of Bucky and kissed him back, ignoring Lucky’s disgruntled sigh as he got up and moved to the foot of the bed instead.

They kissed for long enough for Clint to lose track of time passing, curling further into Bucky’s embrace until they were pressed together as closely as possible and he could feel every line of Bucky’s body through their thin nightshirts. Bucky kept his hand on Clint’s back and shoulders to start with, but he started to explore further as time passed, until he slid it down Clint’s side to rest at his waist, and then down over his hip to his thigh.

Clint felt himself flinch at the unfamiliarity of being touched there and Bucky pulled away, leaning back to smile at Clint as if just this was all he could wish for. Clint was sure enough of what a man might desire from the person he was in love with, and married to, to know that Bucky was almost certainly hoping for far more.

“Thank you,” Bucky said softly, and then repeated it louder.

“You don’t need to thank me,” said Clint, and touched Bucky’s face, cupping his hand around his jaw and feeling the prickle of his stubble. “I should be thanking you, for everything.”

Bucky’s smile widened and he leaned in to kiss Clint again, soft and gentle. “I should leave you to get some sleep,” he said. “It’s late enough to be early, and the storm is over.”

Clint wanted to tell him to stay, to lie down with him and fall asleep with Bucky’s arm around him, but the words stayed locked in his chest as Bucky kissed him again, then pulled away to climb out of bed. _Soon,_ he thought to himself. Not just yet, but soon. 

“Good night,” said Bucky, signing at the same time, before he picked his lamp up. 

“Good night,” said Clint. “I hope you sleep well.”

Bucky snorted and gave him a rueful smile. “Unlikely,” he said. “But I will at least be able to rest now, I think. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” said Clint, and then, because he might not be able to give Bucky everything he wanted to right now but he could give him this, added, “If you ever hear me awake when you’re having a bad night, you’re more than welcome to join me.”

The look that took over Bucky’s face was hard to quantify, but happiness was very much at the heart of it. “Thank you,” he said again, emotion roughening his voice. He wished Clint good night again, and then went back through the door between their rooms, pulling it softly shut behind him.

Clint lay back against his pillows and let out a very long sigh, looking up at the canopy of his bed and giving it what was probably a foolishly wide smile. His whole chest felt warm with affection and his skin was still tingling from their kisses and the way Bucky’s hand had felt running over his body.

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to manage much sleep either.

****

Captain Rogers and Reverend Wilson shared their carriage on the journey to Shield House, while Falsworth and Coulson came in a second carriage behind with the luggage. Bucky’s carriage felt small with four grown men in it, but Clint enjoyed listening to the way Rogers and Bucky spoke to each other, easy banter flowing between them in a way he’d never had with a friend. Perhaps he would have developed it with Natasha over time, if his father had allowed her to see him instead of cutting their friendship short.

Reverend Wilson seemed content to sit back and half-doze but he added in the occasional dry comment, often at Bucky’s expense. Clint watched them all interact, smiling at Bucky to show he was fine whenever he glanced over to check on him. Lucky was lying on the floor at his feet, his husband was taking him to his first ball, and he would be seeing Natasha soon enough. He was more than fine.

“There is still a couple of hours of journey,” said Bucky after they’d stopped at an inn for lunch. He pulled out a pack of cards. “Does anyone want a game?”

Wilson groaned. “So you can win the clothes from our backs again? I’m not Stark, I can’t afford to keep losing money.”

Bucly grinned at him. “We can play for favours, if you’d rather.”

Wilson raised an eyebrow at him. “Every hand I win is a Sunday you come to church.” Bucky hesitated, his face shuttering over and Wilson snorted. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He glanced over at Clint. “Mr Barnes, you’ve been at Brooklyn long enough to have settled in now. Will I have better luck talking you into coming to church than I do with this reprobate?”

Clint stared at him. For all that the Baron and his household had gone to either the village church or their own chapel every Sunday morning without fail, he hadn’t really stopped to consider that he and Bucky hadn’t been once, or that Bucky hadn’t even mentioned it, despite being close friends with the parish vicar. It had just felt like another piece of his old life that he’d left behind.

“I don’t hear well enough to understand a sermon in an echoing church,” he said, because that had always been his main frustration on a Sunday morning.

“We’re not going to talk about God,” said Bucky firmly, handing the cards to Clint. “Shuffle for me, will you, Clint?”

Clint pulled the cards out and started shuffling them, leaving his usual tricks for now because if you cheated every time, it became too obvious.

Wilson sighed. “God would like a relationship with you,” he said to Clint. “Don’t let Barnes’s anger with him rub off on you. If you ever want to be part of my congregation, I am more than happy to find a way to help you. Perhaps if I provide a transcript of my text so you can follow along?”

“Maybe,” said Clint, as noncommittally as he could. The truth was that he’d never really felt that God was part of his life, not when he’d suffered so much and seen no escape from it.

He caught Bucky’s eye as he started to deal the cards and thought that there had been an escape after all. God had sent him a way out of Waverley Hall in the form of a husband he could never have predicted. Perhaps Clint should start going to church again.

They played several hands and, without Clint influencing the cards this time, it became clear that Rogers was something of a cardsharp as well. By the time they arrived at Shield House, the other three all owed him multiple favours.

Natasha came out of the house to greet them all, followed by Colonel Fury. Despite having been his neighbour for the vast majority of his life, up until he’d married Bucky, Clint had only met him a handful of times and those had all been back when he was a boy. He was an intimidating man with an eyepatch and a tendency towards black clothing, but Natasha was fond of him so he couldn’t be that bad.

Could he?

“Rogers, Barnes,” he said, nodding at Bucky and Captain Rogers with familiarity before turning his one eye on Clint. “Mr Barnes. I hope you’ve calmed your tearaway tendencies since my ward used to come back covered in mud whenever she went to play with you.”

His gaze felt like it was boring into Clint’s brain, searching out all his secrets. Clint froze in place. “Um,” he managed, eloquently.

Natasha smacked Fury’s arm with the back of her hand. “Don’t,” she said. “If you want to practise your intimidation techniques, go and find a footman. Leave Clint alone.”

Colonel Fury huffed a sigh but the intensity of his stare dropped and Clint felt able to breathe again.

“Ignore him,” Natasha said to him. “He just misses how he used to terrify his men in the Army.”

“I don’t remember being terrified,” said Captain Rogers.

Bucky snorted, setting his hand on the small of Clint’s back, possibly as reassurance. Clint felt as if he needed it. “You’ve never had the sense to be scared of most of the things you should be.”

“As I remember it, you were both pretty foolhardy,” said Fury, giving them both a pointed look before glancing at Natasha. “Will you show them to their rooms?”

She nodded, and gestured them into the house. “This way, gentlemen.”

Shield House wasn’t particularly large or grand, not when compared to either Brooklyn or Waverley Hall, but it was comfortable and homey. Natasha took them up to the guest rooms on the second floor, showing Steve and Sam their rooms before reaching the last door on the corridor and opening it. “And here is your room,” she announced as they headed inside, Lucky walking carefully behind them. He was moving rather more stiffly than he had been after a day in the carriage. “I hope you’ll both be comfortable here. Clint, I thought you’d appreciate a view of the woods we used to play in.”

Clint didn’t even glance at the windows because he was too busy staring at the one bed in the room, which had both his and Bucky’s cases on it.

Why hadn’t he considered that a married couple would be expected to share a bed in a house that was to be filled with guests?

Natasha turned away from the window to glance at him, then a look of understanding crossed her face, and her gaze slid to Bucky. Clint glanced at him as well to find Bucky giving him a very careful look, clearly waiting for a reaction.

“I’m afraid we only have so many rooms, and we are expecting a lot of guests for the ball,” said Natasha, carefully. “I’m sure if you wished to sleep apart, we could find something, but it might not be as comfortable as we’d usually offer our guests.”

Lucky had found the cushions placed by the fire and settled down on them with a quiet sigh. He looked just as easy and comfortable as he did at home, and Clint realised just how ridiculous this was. 

He trusted Bucky enough that sharing a bed with him wouldn’t be a problem, especially as they had spent the night in the same bed before, on their wedding night. Not to mention the interlude the other night during the thunderstorm. 

“This is fine,” said Clint, and he made himself walk over to the windows and glance out. In the distance beyond the trees, he could make out the turrets of Waverley Hall. “I’m sure we’ll be extremely content here.”

Natasha smiled at him. “Good,” she said. “If there are any problems, please do let me know. I want you to have a good visit here.”

“I’m sure we will,” said Clint, nodding his head to her as she left them to settle in. He glanced at Bucky, who was still giving him a careful look.

“I can find elsewhere to sleep if you’d prefer,” he said. “Steve wouldn’t mind if I joined him.”

Clint snorted. “Did you not notice? His room has an adjoining door with Reverend Wilson’s. It’s very possible he would mind.”

“Well, he wouldn’t mind too much,” Bucky corrected himself. “And he’d understand.”

He was still standing awkwardly near the door and holding himself rather stiffly. It had been a long trip in the carriage and Clint’s shoulders ached just looking at him, so he walked over to him, close enough to put a hand on his arm.

“Thank you for the consideration,” he said, “but I am more than happy to share a bed with you. I trust you, Bucky.” He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Bucky’s lips.

When he pulled back, Bucky was giving him a soft-eyed look that made something warm start to glow deep in Clint’s stomach. It felt like too much to deal with just then, when they had to go down for tea in a few minutes, so he pulled away, taking a step back as if distance would have any effect on how Bucky made him feel.

“I am extremely grateful to hear it,” said Bucky. “I promise, I won’t do anything to betray that trust, Clint.”

Clint hadn’t thought for a moment that he would. He just smiled, and went to make a fuss of Lucky until the moment had passed.

****

That evening was relaxed and easy. Two of Colonel Fury’s army acquaintances had also arrived early for the ball, so they were a rather larger party than Clint was used to. Captain Rogers and Bucky both already knew the officers and it was clear that Natasha had spent time with them before, so it was a friendly gathering.

Clint would have struggled to keep up with the conversation but at all times either Bucky or Natasha were next to him, making sure he was included in the wider conversation or pulling him into a separate talk if that proved too difficult. Natasha in particular seemed able to make it seem so natural and easy to include him that Clint found himself wondering why he’d thought he’d have problems going about in society at all.

Of course, it helped that his ears were having a good day and Natasha had made sure that there was no background noise.

It was wearing trying to keep up with it all though, and he was grateful when the evening came to an end and it was time to head up to bed.

Or he was until he entered the room and remembered why tonight was going to be different to other nights.

Bucky shut the door quietly behind them. “It’s not too late to change your mind,” he said, as Clint continued to stare at the bed.

Clint tore his eyes away and shook his head. “It’s fine. It’s been a long day, I expect we’ll both sleep deeply.”

Bucky’s mouth twisted unhappily. “Perhaps,” he said, then glanced at the windows, over which the curtains had been drawn, probably by the same servant that had lit the lamps. He looked as if he were contemplating some sort of trial by fire rather than a night’s sleep next to his husband.

Next to the man he said he loved.

A cold feeling sunk through Clint’s stomach. “Unless you would prefer not to,” he said, because everyone had been so quick to ask him, but no one had asked Bucky. “I would understand if you’d rather sleep in with Captain Rogers.” 

His best friend and comrade-in-arms was probably a better choice of bedfellow than the man he had only known properly for a month or two, especially if he were prone to waking up in the night, as Clint knew he was.

“No,” said Bucky immediately, stepping forward to take Clint’s hand. “Of course I’d rather spend the night with you, Clint. Every night you want me there. I just-” He glanced at the windows again before looking back at Clint unhappily. “We said we would be honest about the things we don’t find easy.”

“Yes,” agreed Clint, and squeezed Bucky’s hand. “You can tell me whatever you need to.”

Bucky let out a long sigh. “I have nightmares,” he confessed, as if Clint hadn’t already guessed as much from the dark shadows under his eyes on more than a few mornings. “They used to be worse, but sometimes even now they are...debilitating. And they are much, much worse if I can’t see the sky, so I always keep the curtains open.”

“Very well,” said Clint, and pulled away from Bucky, going over to draw the curtains back. The night outside was cloudless with a thin sliver of moon and stars shimmering like diamonds scattered across velvet. He turned back to Bucky. “What else?”

Bucky stared at him for a moment, then found a small smile. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he said. Clint rolled his eyes, then walked back to take his hand.

“What else?” he repeated.

Bucky’s smile vanished and he glanced at the bed. “If I am having a nightmare, don’t touch me,” he said. “Sometimes I get violent. Move away from me and call my name to wake me.” He shrugged. “Or leave me to wake myself. I will try not to disturb you, I promise.”

“You didn’t disturb me when we shared a bed on our wedding night,” Clint reminded him.

Bucky let out a half-laugh. “I’d just married the man of my dreams and was lying beside him. Do you really think I slept a wink that night?”

“Oh,” said Clint, and felt his face flush. For all that Bucky was very open about how he felt about Clint and the years he had spent wanting him, it still always took Clint by surprise that anyone, let alone a man like Bucky, could really care so much about him.

Bucky smiled at him and squeezed his hand, then pulled away. “I’ll change in the dressing room,” he said, and rang the bell for Falsworth and Coulson to attend them. “Just knock when you’re ready for me to come back in.”

****

The last time Clint had changed into his nightshirt in order to spend the night with Bucky, he’d been terrified. Now, he felt a strange tingle of anticipation that edged the line into apprehension.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” asked Coulson, and Clint shook his head. “Very well, good night then,” he said, and left the room.

Clint glanced over at Lucky, who was asleep by the fire, then out of the window at the night sky. He reminded himself that there was nothing to be scared of, then went to the dressing room door and gave it a gentle knock.

There was a call back from within that Clint didn’t catch the words behind but took to mean that Bucky would come through once he was ready. He stood for a moment longer, clenching his hands anxiously, then made himself move away from the door.

He couldn’t bring himself to go towards the bed so instead he went to the window, looking out at the night sky towards the place where he’d be able to see Waverley Hall if it were daylight. He wondered how his mother was, if she was sleeping already. It seemed so strange that she was so close, and yet Clint wouldn’t be seeing her.

Of course, seeing her would mean seeing his father as well, and the very thought made him tense with fear.

The dressing room door opened and Clint turned to see Bucky step inside. He paused for a moment, eyes roving over Clint’s body in a way that made him want to stand up straighter and attempt to look as if he deserved to be married to him. A heavy moment passed in which they just looked at each other, and then Bucky carefully shut the door behind himself.

“That is a new nightgown,” he noted.

“Yes,” agreed Clint, glancing down at it. “But you already knew about it.” The new nightgowns the tailor had made for him were all more than long enough for his stature and embroidered with a small purple archery target on the breast. He tapped his finger to it. “I didn’t ask for this, and the tailor didn’t seem like the kind of man who would take the initiative himself.”

Bucky shrugged that away. “You deserve nice things, and I feel I know you enough to know that for you, nice things are those that come with some reminder of archery.”

Clint couldn’t keep in a smile. “Very true,” he said, and suddenly all his apprehension felt silly in the face of just how well Bucky knew him already, and how obvious it was from these tiny gestures that all he wanted was to make him happy.

He crossed over to the bed. “Do you mind which side you sleep on?” he asked, hesitating as he turned down the covers.

Bucky took a step closer, looking at the bed consideringly. “The right side,” he said, crossing around to it.

Clint nodded and slid into the left side, tamping down the shiver of tingles that ran over his skin. There was no reason for him to be so emotional about this, they were merely going to go to sleep.

He settled in then glanced at Bucky, only just realising that their positions put the side of Bucky’s missing arm closest to him. “Will I hurt you if I nudge your injury in my sleep?” he asked, already considering how to keep himself as far on his side as possible.

“No,” said Bucky, shaking his head. “It is long since healed enough for that not to matter.” He hesitated and gave Clint a concerned look. “If it disturbs you, we can sleep on opposite sides, so you need not-”

“No,” said Clint immediately, “no, it’s fine.” He looked at the concern on Bucky’s face, and thought about how his voice had sounded when he’d told Clint he was broken. He reached out and set his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, checking his face for any sign that this was unwelcome. Bucky gave him the tiny smile that was usually prompted by Clint touching him, but he had tensed up considerably, so Clint left his hand where it was rather than stroking it down over the remains of his arm as he’d planned. “You needn’t ever worry about this affecting my opinion of you.”

The look Bucky gave him contained too much emotion for Clint to face head on, so he turned away to blow out the lamp. Darkness settled over the room, aside from the faint starlight from the windows, and Clint settled down into his pillows and pulled the blankets up.

It felt strange to know Bucky was so close, to know that if his hearing hadn’t been damaged he’d be able to hear him breathing.

“Good night,” he said, and felt the mattress move as Bucky shifted. He was all too aware that usually he accompanied the words with a kiss, but it felt very different to kiss Bucky while in bed beside him in the dark than it did when they were both still clothed and in the corridor outside their rooms.

“Good night,” Bucky returned, and Clint let his eyes drop shut.


	3. Chapter 3

Either the nightmares Bucky had been afraid of hadn’t materialised or Clint had slept through them, because when he woke up it was to morning light streaming in through the window. He turned his head towards Bucky and found he was already awake, watching Clint with a relaxed half-smile.

“Good morning,” he said, although Clint read it from his lips rather than hearing it clearly.

He half sat up so that he could reply in sign language. “Morning, handsome.”

Bucky’s smile twitched up higher and he pulled his arm free of the blankets to sign, “I hope you slept well, sweetheart.”

“I did,” agreed Clint, then gave into the pull that Bucky’s peaceful, sleepy expression had on him and leaned in close to press their mouths together. Bucky responded immediately, pushing up into Clint’s kiss and setting his hand on Clint’s shoulder to keep him in place until he’d finished taking his time.

When he pulled away Clint was breathless and wondering just how far he could be persuaded to go while he was feeling warm and safe in the same bed as Bucky, nothing but their nightshirts between them.

Bucky sighed and his eyes twitched over to the door. “Come in,” he called, and Clint realised he’d missed hearing a knock. He rolled away from Bucky onto his back as Falsworth came in, carrying a tray. “I’ve brought your morning coffee, sirs,” he said, carefully keeping his eyes away from the bed as if expecting there to be something he shouldn’t be seeing.

“Coffee,” said Clint happily, sitting up. His movement roused Lucky, who had come to sleep on the foot of the bed at some point, as Bucky had said he thought he would. He lifted his head to look at Clint, then scrambled to his feet to say hello, nudging his head against Clint’s chest until he scratched his ears. 

When he looked back at Bucky, he’d sat up as well and was holding his coffee but watching Clint, still wearing that affectionate smile. Clint wondered if he’d ever get used to having it aimed at him.

Falsworth had disappeared again, presumably to prepare Bucky’s clothes for the day.

“What’s the plan for today?” Clint asked, and Bucky gave a casual shrug.

“Staying out of the way while Fury and Miss Romanov make the final preparations for the ball, I suspect,” he said. “They have several horses they usually let us borrow, so Steve will probably want to ride over to see Stark.”

Clint considered that. “I should like to see Stark Towers,” he said. “We should see if it’s worth winning in the next card game.”

Bucky laughed. “Indeed,” he agreed. “I think you’ll like it, but it’s very different to Brooklyn. Older, of course. More like your childhood home.”

Clint made a face at the reminder of Waverley Hall. “Then I suspect I’ll prefer Brooklyn,” he said, which made the smile on Bucky’s face spread wider.

He couldn’t resist leaning in to kiss him again, although he kept it swift. There was a cup of coffee on his nightstand after all, and if he got too distracted by Bucky’s lips, it would go cold.

****

The weather was cold but bright, perfect for a ride across to Stark Towers. Clint had felt apprehensive about trying to keep up with a group of gentlemen who all had far more experience on horseback than he did, but it seemed his last few weeks of rides with both Kate and Bucky had improved his riding well enough to not feel as if he were holding them back.

They rode across the countryside where he had grown up and he realised he was seeing more of the area in one day than he had in the twenty-odd years before that. Part of him couldn’t keep from fearing that they’d run into his father somehow, but the only people they saw were strangers to him, even when they were close to Waverley Hall.

He wasn’t sure what he would have done if they had come across the Baron. It wasn’t as if he were doing anything the Baron could hold against him, not when he was no doubt still enjoying whatever payment he had secured from Bucky in exchange for the marriage. He was out with his husband, who smiled every time he glanced over at Clint so was clearly not unhappy with his choice. There was nothing that could make the Baron angry and, even if there had been, Clint wasn’t under his control any more. He was with two war heroes and a man of God who Clint suspected wasn’t shy about making his feelings about bullies known. His father wouldn’t have a chance to try and hurt Clint.

He didn’t let himself think for a moment that he would be able to stand up for himself at all. The way he had reacted to Bucky raising his voice had made it very clear that he’d never be able to face anyone like his father without cowering in the face of his anger. He would have to rely on Bucky to protect him.

They ate lunch with Earl Stark, who was just as loud as Clint remembered, waving his arms and talking a mile a minute in a way that meant Clint quickly lost track of the conversation. He contented himself with looking around at Stark Towers. Bucky had been right that it was a larger, grander version of what Waverley Hall would have been with enough money for its upkeep. There were several significant differences though, modern machinery peppered around the house that had clearly been built by Stark and whose purposes Clint had no idea about.

He was rather afraid to ask, given how often he’d heard about Stark causing explosions.

“Are we all done eating?” asked Stark once the meal was done, jumping up without waiting for a response. “I’ve got something I want to show you.” They stood and started to follow him out of the dining room, and Stark glanced over his shoulder. “Barnes, you’re going to love this.”

Bucky’s head perked up and Clint saw an excited smile cross his face briefly before it was suppressed. He started running through the things that might have caused that reaction and realised, after a moment, that there were very few things that he’d seen make Bucky happy. He’d seen a similar smile the day Bucky’s parcel of new books had arrived but he didn’t think Stark would be taking them to see his library. Bucky also found happiness in anything to do with horses, but there wasn’t much else. 

Well.

Other than Clint himself, of course. He couldn’t begin to deny that one, even if he didn’t understand it.

The realisation that Clint was one of a very short list of things that made Bucky happy seemed slightly unreal, given how often he’d seen Bucky smile since he’d arrived at Brooklyn. But then, most of those smiles had been because of something he’d done.

God, he was holding so much of Bucky’s happiness in his hands. How was he going to avoid crushing it?

“And will the rest of us like it?” asked Wilson, jolting Clint out of his thoughts.

“Eh,” said Stark with a shrug that made Rogers sigh.

“Which means it’s some new contraption,” he said tiredly. “Please tell me this one won’t explode.”

Stark glanced back with a grin. “Ninety percent sure. Maybe eighty-five percent.”

Rogers let out an even deeper sigh.

Stark led them to a large, cluttered room that looked like something from a cautionary tale about the dangers of scientific endeavours. Strange metal devices and carefully constructed items whose use Clint couldn’t even begin to guess at lay scattered on several long tables.

Stark led them to a cleared space, in the middle of which sat a squat metal contraption. “Have any of you been to Duke Hammer’s lately?” he asked, pulling a string from the top of the device and handing it to Bucky, who took it with interest, crouching to get a better look at the machine.

“No, I’ve been rather busy being married,” he said, then glanced back at Clint and, yes, there it was. The excited smile that Clint felt so unworthy of prompting merely by being in Bucky’s life.

“I’m not exactly the kind of person on the Duke’s invitation list,” said Wilson, eyeing the contraption with far more concern than Bucky was showing.

“Excellent,” said Stark, “then this will be a complete surprise. Everyone needs to form a chain, holding hands. Barnes, keep hold of the string.”

Clint immediately slid his hand into Bucky’s, trapping the string between their palms, and gave Bucky’s hand a squeeze. Bucky directed another of those smiles at him.

“I don’t like the sound of...” said Rogers, and Clint lost the end of the sentence as he turned away to take Wilson’s hand, who sighed but obligingly took hold as well. Rogers took Clint’s other hand, leaving them strung out in a chain, like the start of a dance.

“Is this similar to the steam-powered footman?” asked Bucky as Stark crouched to start turning a handle on one side of the machine.

Clint could not have heard that correctly. “The what?”

Bucky turned to grin at him. “The steam-powered footman. It was fantastic. It could fetch things for you.”

Rogers snorted. “It could run into your shins and leave scorch marks on your carpets,” he corrected. “It was- Ow!”

Pain snapped through Clint at the same time as Rogers jolted, a sharp whipcrack like you sometimes got from touching a metal object. Rogers dropped his hand and stepped back.

“Stark, what the hell?”

Stark grinned at them. “Isn’t it great? It’s an electrifying machine! Quite the latest thing in the best drawing rooms, although I think I’m the only peer of the realm who has made my own.”

“Why would anyone want to shock their guests?” asked Wilson, rubbing at his hand where apparently the pain had hit him as well.

Stark shrugged as he stood up. “It’s better than listening to Hammer’s hunting stories for the fifteenth time.”

Bucky had crouched down beside the machine to stare at it. “How does it work?”

“Friction,” said Stark, crouching next to him. “You turn the handle and it builds up, then when it’s strong enough a charge goes down the string, and travels through anyone holding on.”

“Incredible,” said Bucky.

Clint caught Rogers’s eye as he let out a long-suffering sigh. “So, Bucky really likes this kind of thing?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” said Rogers. “All this new-fangled stuff, machines and gadgets and new devices.”

Bucky stood up. “Because it’s fascinating,” he said. “Look, Stevie, it’s the future! It’s just a toy now, but imagine what they could do with it in just a few years. They’re building locomotives that run on steam, can you imagine how easy they would make travel if rails were built all across the country? Or the new steamer boats that are being used in the Firth of Clyde? I don’t understand why you’re not excited by the possibilities.”

Rogers just gave a shrug. “I am, I just don’t think a thing Stark put together just to hurt us and call it entertainment is worth getting excited about.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and looked at Clint. “You understand, surely?”

Clint hesitated, because he really didn’t. He didn’t know much about the things Bucky was talking about and had never really taken the time to find out about them. They’d always just seemed a million miles away from his life. 

He considered lying and giving Bucky the answer he wanted, but if they were being truthful with each other about the big things, they should probably be truthful about the small things as well. He reached out and took Bucky’s hand again. “Not really, but I’m enjoying watching you smile.”

The soft smile that crossed Bucky’s face, and the way he squeezed Clint’s hand was more than enough to make up for the scoffing noise Earl Stark made.

“Lord save us from the newly married,” he said, and then clicked his fingers. “Oh! Hey! Wedding present!”

He spun away to one of the cluttered tables and pushed a couple of things aside. “Here, this is for you, Mr Barnes, as some consolation for having to put up with the Lieutenant for the rest of your lives.”

The item he pulled free looked something like what might result if a bow and a spinning wheel created a baby together. It was small enough to look like a child’s bow and had small wheels at the top and bottom with more than one string running between them.

“What is it?” Clint asked, taking it from Stark and turning it over in his hands.

“It’s a bow,” said Stark. “Well, it’s a bow re-engineered, shall we say. The cogs and string make it much easier to draw back while retaining the same force, so you can concentrate more on your aim and less on the strength needed to pull it back.”

“I don’t need to concentrate on my aim,” said Clint absently, as he tested the string. Stark was right, it was much easier, and the small size made it easier to handle as well. “Do you have any arrows?” he asked. “And a target?”

Bucky snorted. “You’ve lost him now,” he said. “He won’t pay attention to anything else.”

Clint didn't bother responding, too busy running over the lines of the bow and investigating the way it had been set up to change the weight on the string. Stark handed him a handful of arrows and he took them, glancing up to see that a target had been nailed to the wall at the end of the room.

He was about to protest that he wasn't going to shoot arrows inside one of the oldest stately homes in the county when he actually took in the wall, and all the many dents and scorch marks littered over the plaster. This was clearly not the first time it had been used for testing something.

He nocked an arrow and pulled back, revelling in how easy it was and already considering how this would make certain trick shots easier. He let the arrow go and watched it bury itself into the centre of the target with more force than he would have expected given how little strength he had exerted.

“It's fantastic,” he said, nocking another arrow and letting it fly to land next to the first. He pulled his gaze away to look at Stark. “Thank you,” he said, putting as much of his gratitude into his voice as he could manage.

Stark just grinned at him. “You're welcome,” he said. “Thank _you_ for marrying Barnes, and ending his tortured pining.”

Clint blinked and glanced at Bucky, who had rolled his eyes to the ceiling and let out a sigh. “It wasn't _tortured_ ,” he said, but Clint couldn't help noticing he didn't dispute the 'pining' part of the sentence.

“Sure it wasn't,” said Wilson, clearly not meaning it as he slapped a hand to Bucky's shoulder. “You just really enjoy sitting in Miss Romanov’s parlour, staring out at Waverley Hall and sighing deeply. I hate to break this up before Stark finds some other machine to cause us all damage, but we should be getting back.”

Rogers pulled out his pocket watch and nodded. “We'll see you tonight,” he said to Tony, who waved a vague salute at him.

“Indeed you will, Captain,” he said. “Save the first dance for me, will you?”

Rogers turned an interesting shade of pink. “Ah,” he said, carefully. “I'm afraid that one has already been claimed.” He glanced at Wilson as if he couldn’t keep his eyes away.

Stark laughed. “Of course it has,” he said. “Congratulations on talking him into that much, Reverend.”

Wilson just shrugged, but there was a pleased smile playing on his lips. Clint glanced at Bucky to see him already looking back, and wondered if he would be having a first dance tonight as well. He hoped so.

****

The ride home was taken at a slower pace. Rogers and Wilson rode ahead, keeping their horses side by side as they talked, and Bucky slowed his horse to pace by Clint’s side.

“Have you decided if we should win the house from Stark or not?” he asked.

Clint laughed and shook his head. “Too many unknown devices,” he said. “I should be afraid that the whole place would turn out to be capable of flight and just take off with us in it one day.”

Bucky grinned. “That could be fun,” he said. “We could tour the world in the comfort of our own home.”

“Only if we could work out how to land it,” said Clint. “Otherwise we’d just fly up and up, higher and higher, until we had to make a new life amongst the clouds.”

Bucky shrugged easily. “As long as you were there, I’m sure I could learn to love it.”

Clint didn’t have an answer to that.

When they got back to Shield House, the servants were all bustling around with preparations for the ball. Natasha arranged for the guests to be served tea in one of the parlours, then hustled them off to get ready, which Clint was pretty sure was code for ‘get out from under my feet’.

“Will you change in the dressing room again?” asked Clint, looking at where Coulson had hung up his outfit for the night. Now they had reached the stage of getting ready, he was starting to feel nervous about this evening. Would he be able to hear enough to enjoy it? Would he be able to remember the steps to the dances Barney had taught him, back before it had become clear his father would never allow him the chance to use them? Would he stand out as glaringly as he feared he would as being at his first ever ball?

Bucky nodded. “I asked Falsworth to draw a bath for us when we returned, if you wish to use it first.”

A long hot bath sounded exactly what Clint needed to steady himself. “Thank you,” he said, and found a smile for Bucky that he hoped covered his nerves.

Bucky smiled back. “I look forward to seeing you all dressed up,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll look wonderful.”

Of course, there was that. No matter what happened at the ball, no matter how badly Clint’s ears coped, or how he messed up the dance steps, he knew Bucky would be by his side making sure he had everything he needed. And Natasha had assured him that there would be a quiet room set aside for him to retire to if the noise became too much and he needed a break. He wasn’t facing this new experience alone.

“Thank you, handsome,” he signed.

Bucky’s eyes traced the movement before he glanced back at Clint’s face. “How much longer before you tell me what that means?”

Clint just grinned at him, then signed, as rapidly as he could so that Bucky wouldn’t have a chance of reading it, “It means you’re the best looking man I’ve ever seen.” 

He meant it, as well. He hadn’t seen a great number of people before he met Bucky, but even now it was growing with every social event Bucky included him in, he couldn’t imagine ever coming across a man who was even half as handsome as Bucky was.

Clint couldn’t wait to see him in his outfit for the ball.

****

“Lieutenant Barnes has knocked to indicate he is ready,” said Coulson as Clint stared at himself in the mirror, trying to decide if he looked good enough for the evening’s entertainment.

“You may let him in,” he said, pulling on his waistcoat to adjust it.

Coulson crossed to open the door and the moment Bucky stepped in Clint forgot all about his own appearance in favour of staring at him.

Bucky was wearing a black jacket over a dark red waistcoat and his hair had been neatly styled in a way that made Clint want to run his hands through it. He had to stop still for a moment to just take in how he looked, and to let himself realise all over again that this stunningly handsome man was his husband.

“Clint,” said Bucky, so softly that Clint wouldn’t have understood if he hadn’t known exactly what his name looked like on Bucky’s lips by now. Bucky turned to where Coulson was standing and asked, “How do you say ‘you’re very handsome’ in sign language?” 

Clint was too distracted by his initial reaction of denial that he could ever be handsome to realise what was about to happen. It was only when Bucky’s eyes opened wide for a moment before he turned his gaze back to Clint and repeated the signs Coulson had just shown him that he realised his nickname for Bucky was no longer a secret.

Bucky’s hand moved through the signs, pointing to Clint, then he hesitated and flicked his eyes back to Coulson, giving him the unmistakable cue to leave. As soon as he’d slipped away, Bucky looked back at Clint and repeated the sign for ‘handsome’. “Is that really how you see me?”

Clint laughed. “Have you seen a mirror?” he asked. “Of course that’s how I see you. It’s how everyone must see you.”

Bucky shook his head. “Not since Spain,” he said, shrugging the shoulder of his missing arm.

Clint couldn’t let that go. He stepped in close to Bucky without even needing to think about it, cupping a hand around his jaw. “You have breathtaking eyes,” he said, “your jawline could inspire sonnets. And your figure, well.” He glanced down at the firm lines of Bucky’s shoulders and chest, then raised his head back to meet Bucky’s eyes, “that inspires other things in me.” He leaned in and kissed Bucky, thinking that it was much easier to take these steps towards him when it was to make sure Bucky understood his worth rather than because Clint wanted it. “You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. Of course that was the nickname I chose for you.” He hesitated, and then added, “Even when we first met, when I didn’t know if I should risk marrying a man I knew nothing about, I thought that at least I would have something beautiful to look at every day.”

Bucky’s hand rested on his waist. “Clint. Sweetheart,” he said softly, then stopped and just took a deep breath. It didn’t look as if he’d be able to manage anything else, so Clint leaned in and kissed him again, enjoying the press of their lips together, especially when Bucky shook off his paralysis and kissed him back, gripping tighter at his waist to pull him in closer.

“I love you,” he said emotionally, once they’d moved apart.

Clint couldn’t keep looking him in the eyes when he used that tone of voice, with that expression on his face. It was all too much, especially on top of the thudding emotions in his own heart, so he took a step backwards to break the moment.

“Shall we go down?”

“Of course,” said Bucky, shaking off the moment just as easily. He smiled and held his arm out. Clint took it and followed him out of the bedroom, to go down to his first ball.

****

It was even noisier than he’d been prepared for. He hesitated in the doorway and Bucky paused beside him, giving him time to look around at the decorations and large vases of flowers, the small cluster of musicians at the end already halfway through a scotch reel and, above all, the crowd of people filling up Shield House’s small ballroom.

The noise of conversation and movement, layered on top of the music, crowded in on Clint’s ears and he could already tell he wasn’t going to be able to manage much conversation at all.

_You knew this would happen,_ he reminded himself, because he’d always known his hearing would render large social gatherings difficult. He’d been proved right at the wedding, which had been by far the largest event he’d been to until this evening, and which he had spent unable to hear much of anything and rapidly gaining a headache.

This was different, though. The wedding had been forced on him as a necessary evil and, no matter how well it had turned out for him, he hadn’t wanted to be there. This was his choice. His choice to go to his first ball, at his best friend’s house with his husband on his arm.

He raised his head against the barrage of noise, straightening his automatic hunch at the way it felt like an attack, and squeezed Bucky’s arm as a signal that he was ready to proceed.

Bucky sent him a tiny smile, then led him over to where Rogers and Wilson were standing.

“Good evening,” said Clint, and caught perhaps twenty percent of the response, although it was enough to guess it was fairly innocuous.

Rogers and Wilson both glanced at Bucky and Clint followed their gaze, slightly too late to do more than catch the tail-end of the movement of his lips. “...tonight.”

Clint didn’t bother looking to see what response Rogers or Wilson would give. He wasn’t going to be able to keep up with this conversation so instead he let his attention wander, looking around the room. Natasha was by the door in a red dress, greeting her guests as they arrived with Colonel Fury beside her. She caught Clint’s gaze and nodded her head at him before her attention was pulled back by the next group of arrivals.

Earl Stark was in the small group of couples who had already started dancing, dressed so elegantly that Clint suspected the matrons around the room would have referred to him as a dandy in disapproving tones. Clint watched them for a few steps, trying to work out what dance it was, but it wasn’t one of the very few he’d learnt.

He wasn’t going to know any of the dances. He was just going to have to stand like a wallflower all night, watching others dance and unable to listen to any of the conversation. What was the point of coming here?

He took a deep breath and pushed down the fizzing fear in his belly. He was here because he could be, he reminded himself. He was here because Natasha had invited him, and had done so for years without any hope of him being able to come. He was here because his husband had given him the opportunity, and smiled when he’d said yes to it. He was here to make up for all those invitations that his father had kept from him. And if he discovered he didn’t like it, well, at least then he’d know, but he was going to give himself every chance to enjoy it first.

A footman paused by their group with a tray of drinks. Clint focused on the glasses of wine and took two, handing one to Bucky, who raised an eyebrow in surprise but didn’t comment on Clint’s choice of drink.

Clint smiled at him and held his glass up. “To my first ball.”

Bucky smiled back and tapped his glass to Clint’s, and Clint was surprised a moment later when Rogers and Wilson did the same. He extended his smile to them both, then took a sip of the wine.

He had largely avoided alcohol ever since he’d become old enough to be allowed some, mostly because he’d seen the effect it had on his father and Barney. He wasn’t his father or his brother, though, and he was going to experience this ball as he was meant to, with a glass in his hand. Even if it was the same glass all night.

Bucky was still smiling at him. It wasn’t the lit up, excited smile from earlier at Stark’s, it was a smaller, subtler one that felt like it was just for the two of them. Clint found he liked it just as much.

The music came to an end and for a brief moment, Clint’s ears had a moment to relax. Not fully relax, because there was still a room full of chatter around him, but enough for him to hear Wilson say to Rogers, “You promised me ... dance.”

“Of course,” said Rogers, setting his glass down and putting his hand in Wilson’s.

“Remember what I ... keeping out of the way of his feet,” said Bucky, and Rogers rolled his eyes at him as Wilson led him away.

Clint stepped in closer to Bucky’s side. “Do you know anyone else here?” he asked, looking around at all the people he probably would have known if his father had let him out into society.

“Most...” said Bucky, and then Clint lost the end of his sentence as the orchestra struck up again. He turned to focus fully on Bucky’s mouth, moving closer and watching carefully as he spoke again. 

Bucky nodded subtly over into the corner, where a large, older lady was settled into an armchair and commanding an audience of a handful of flurried-looking young women. “That’s Mrs Nelson and… -aughters. They’re all ... be charming and eligible, but I always found them a little insipid.”

Clint looked back over at the group and noticed a naval officer hovering on the outside of the group, trying to catch the attention of one of the daughters. She flicked a glance at him, then blushed and turned her attention back to her mother.

Bucky nudged him with his elbow and Clint glanced at him as he direct Clint’s gaze to a man wearing an extremely garish red jacket. “That’s Mr Wilson,” he said. “No relation to our Reverend. He’s … -plete maniac.”

Clint turned and looked at him. “A maniac?” he said, watching as Mr Wilson bowed low and held his hand out to a young man who looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but where he was. “That seems a little strong.”

“It’s not,” said Bucky, grimly. He turned his eyes to a couple a little further on, directing Clint’s attention to them and then waiting until Clint had looked back at his face before explaining who they were. He carried on around the room, filling in fascinating snippets of information about everyone he knew there while Clint concentrated on his lips, strained his ears, and did his best to keep up.

Some of the names he recognised, either from Barney’s stories or from hearing his parents exchange gossip from the neighbourhood, but most of them were completely new. He looked at those who were his age and wondered which he’d have been friends with if he’d been able to know them as he grew up. Who would he have forged the kinds of bonds with that Bucky, Rogers and Stark’s shared schooling had given them? Who would he have learnt to dismiss as a maniac?

Who would he have been courted by, or even made the effort to court himself? He tried to imagine wanting anyone other than Bucky by his side and couldn’t manage it. Even if he hadn’t already known Bucky, he was by far the most handsome man in the room, even with Captain Rogers and Earl Stark there, both now bowing to their partners as the dance drew to an end.

Bucky attracted Clint’s attention again and when he had it, he carefully signed, “May I have the next dance?”

A glow filled Clint’s chest. He hadn’t taught him that phrase, so Bucky must have asked Coulson or Natasha in preparation for this evening. 

“I may not know the steps,” he warned him, “and I can only hear parts of the music.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t care. I want to dance with my husband.” He hesitated, and then added, “Our first dance.”

Clint thought back to their wedding and how quickly he’d said no to a dance then. At the time, he had thought that Bucky had only been asking out of politeness, but now he knew him well enough to see the eagerness in his eyes, even as he tried to hide it so that Clint wouldn’t feel pressured.

Clint drained the last of his wine and put his hand in Bucky’s. “Very well. I suppose we have waited more than long enough.”

Bucky’s face lit up and that was it, his excited, gleeful smile that made Clint want to kiss him in front of all these people. Instead, he forced himself to just follow Bucky to where the sets of couples were lining up.

Rogers and Wilson formed up next to them, with Stark on their other side with a woman Bucky had named as Lady Danvers. With familiar faces either side, Clint felt far more sure of himself as the music started and he bowed to Bucky. With some relief, he recognised the tune as a country dance that Barney had once shown him.

For the first few bars, he was concentrating so strongly on getting the steps right, watching everyone else to make sure he was doing the same thing as them, that he didn’t glance up at Bucky’s face. When he did, the expression on it was more than enough to make him stumble. He looked completely radiant, moving with ease and grace while keeping his eyes firmly on Clint, as if there weren’t anything else in the room he wanted to look at.

After that, Clint relaxed and let himself enjoy the dance without worrying so much about getting every step correct. He did fumble some of them, but either Stark or Wilson just nudged him back into place, and nothing he did dimmed the look on Bucky’s face even one tiny fraction. Some of the steps should have involved Bucky’s left arm, but he just adapted them as he moved and Clint found himself able to step into the changes without having to consider it. It felt just as natural as when he was teaching Bucky more sign vocabulary and they both came up with the best way to amend a sign for him at the same time. It felt like they were in sync.

When the dance came to an end, they bowed to each other and then Clint reached to take Bucky’s hand. “Thank you,” he said, filled with emotions he couldn’t name, feeling as if he were glowing from the inside.

“Thank you,” said Bucky, signing at the same time. “You were perfect.”

Clint had taught him that one, but only as part of a series of phrases he’d intended to be directed at Lucky. He just grinned at Bucky and squeezed his hand. “Another?”

He wouldn’t have thought it possible for Bucky to light up any more but he did so, ducking his head in a nod as couples started to line up for the next dance.

It was a cotillion, and not one Clint knew at all, but somehow that just made it even more fun, muddling through the steps while Bucky tried to direct him and they both laughed at his mistakes. Bucky gave up on vocal commands fairly rapidly when it became clear that Clint couldn’t hear them well enough to process what he should be doing in time. Instead, Bucky used sign language for the words he knew, and quick gestures for the ones he didn’t, and by the time they’d reached the end of the dance Clint was moving where he should be nine times out of ten, and had only collided with one of the others three or four times.

They danced another two or three dances, then Rogers tapped Bucky’s shoulder and jerked his head towards the side. Bucky rolled his eyes but when he turned back to Clint he held his arm out to escort him away from the dancefloor rather than to start the next dance. Clint took it gladly, ready for a break. It was only as they headed towards the room where the buffet was spread out and the other couples around them split up that he realised that Rogers, Wilson, Stark and Lady Danvers had been waiting for Clint and Bucky to stop dancing before they did.

They must have been deliberately acting as a buffer for them, keeping either side of them so that strangers wouldn’t have to dance next to the deaf man who didn’t know the steps and the one-armed man trying to guide him through it.

For a moment he considered being offended, then he caught sight of the happiness on Bucky’s face and let it go. Bucky must have known and he clearly didn’t mind, so Clint didn’t see why he should. In fact, the more he considered it, the more it seemed like a gift. He wasn’t sure he’d have been able to enjoy himself so thoroughly if he’d felt the self-consciousness of being next to strangers.

Clint and Bucky filled a couple of plates for themselves and found a quiet place to sit, although it wasn’t anywhere close to quiet enough for Clint’s ears to get much of a break. Bucky’s eyes caught him wincing as a woman nearby let out a particularly shrill peal of laughter, and his smile disappeared beneath a frown.

“How are your ears?” he asked, shaping the words carefully while the plate in his hand kept him from signing.

Clint gave a half shrug. “As I knew they would be,” he said. “It’s worth it.” He hesitated, and then added, “Dancing with you was worth it,” just to see the way Bucky smiled again, soft and faintly pink-cheeked.

How had Clint only just realised how many different smiles Bucky had, and how much he wanted to see them all as often as possible?

“Let me know if you want to retire for a while,” said Bucky, and Clint nodded.

“Not yet,” he said. He wanted to enjoy this for a while longer.

They finished their food and then went to find the others. Clint took another glass of wine from a waiter, feeling buoyed enough by the emotions of the evening not to worry about the effect it might have on him. When Natasha joined them a few minutes later, she started a conversation with him in sign and he set it to one side so he could reply in the same. He wasn’t so eager to drink that he was going to miss out on some relief from trying to concentrate on either lipreading or catching enough with his ears to piece together a sentence.

Natasha did not bother with being subtle. “I haven’t seen Lieutenant Barnes look so happy since he came back from Spain.”

Clint glanced at Bucky and caught him laughing at something Rogers had said, eyes bright and posture relaxed, and thought he should look like that all the time.

“I didn’t know he was such a fan of balls,” he replied. “He seemed fairly ambivalent about whether or not we came.”

Natasha laughed. “It’s not balls he’s a fan of,” she said. “Usually he just stands in the corner glowering if anyone other than Captain Rogers attempts to talk to him. He doesn’t particularly like strangers, I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

Clint considered that and realised he’d never once seen Bucky deal with a stranger. Even here, in a roomful of people, he’d only spoken to the same handful of people that he’d invited to his house, and who had come to the wedding for him. 

“He’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him because of you,” continued Natasha. “Because you have let him use the mess that your marriage arose out of to give him a chance at what he has always wanted.” She hesitated, and then added, “I wanted to thank you for that. He’s a good man and I am glad to see him happy. To see both of you happy.”

Clint didn’t have an answer to that because it still seemed so strange that he could be what made Bucky happy. He let his eyes slide away from Natasha to avoid the earnest look on her face and caught sight of a host of curious glances aimed at them from around the room.

Suddenly, he felt horribly self-conscious. He’d just been standing there, calmly using sign language in front of all these people as if he weren’t creating a giant banner above his head, signalling him as a freak.

The more he looked, the more he realised how many of the mouths he could see had his name on them, his old name. Of course, he was surrounded by all the people who would have heard the rumours about Lord Barton’s youngest son, the defective one. The one who was too shameful to be let out.

The one they had just seen stumbling through dances everyone else knew, and waving his hands around rather than talking normally.

Clint took a step closer to Bucky without even considering it, as if his presence alone could ward off the stares and the curiosity. Bucky was deep in conversation with Rogers but he turned away immediately and touched his hand to the small of Clint’s back.

“Are you well?” he asked, leaning in close so that Clint could hear him.

Clint took in a deep breath. “I think I need that break now.”

“Of course,” said Bucky, and guided him out of the room without even pausing to say goodbye to Rogers.

Natasha had set aside a small drawing room and informed Clint that it would be empty for the duration of the ball. It was far enough from the ballroom that when they went inside and shut the door, Clint could hear nothing of it.

He let out a long sigh, rolling his neck to try and release some of the tension. Without the constant barrage of noise, he could feel the stress in his muscles from bracing against it and the buzzing in his ears from too much sound.

“We can retire now, if it’s too much,” said Bucky, and Clint turned to him to see a worried frown on his face. “Or,” he amended, “You can retire and spend some time alone, with just Lucky, and I will join you later, once you’ve had a break.”

“I don’t need a break from you,” said Clint. “Besides, it’s not the noise. Or, well. Not just the noise.” He took a deep breath and shrugged. “I suppose I hadn’t realised how many people would be gossiping about me, although I really should have. The mysterious defective son of the infamous Lord Barton is bound to make a good topic of conversation once he finally shows himself in polite society.”

“You’re not defective,” said Bucky immediately, stepping forward to take Clint’s hand. “You’re perfect. Anyone who wastes time talking about others when they could be living their own life is the defective one.”

His expression was so earnest that Clint couldn’t resist leaning in to press a kiss to his lips, as he’d been wanting to do since their first dance together. “Thank you, but that doesn’t make it any less frustrating to be the centre of that kind of attention.”

Bucky let out a sigh. “I know,” he said. “Not all of them are talking about you, you know. They are just as enthralled by going back over what little they know of my experiences in Spain, and some of them consider our marriage itself to be an interesting scandal. It’s no secret that your father wouldn’t have agreed to it without financial compensation.”

Clint made a face, because he didn’t like to think about how eager his father had been to effectively sell him to the first person to ask. He had been lucky that it had been Bucky, and that his reasons had been altruistic. Clint could just as easily have found himself married to someone older looking for a young trophy husband, or someone who wanted noble blood in their children and saw him only as a means to that end.

He kissed Bucky again, filled with gratitude that he’d avoided that fate. Bucky leaned into him, wrapping his arm around Clint’s shoulders and holding him there even after their mouths had separated.

“I suppose we should be glad that my father isn’t here,” Clint said. “He would have no doubt done something to cause even more gossip.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think Miss Romanov would have invited him?”

Clint frowned. For all that no one wanted to have the Baron at a social function, he did get invited to most events in the area because even a baron experiencing financial difficulties was still a peer of the realm. For Colonel Fury and Miss Romanov, his closest neighbours, not to invite him to an event that all the rest of the neighbourhood had been invited to was a shocking slight. 

Bucky caught the look on his face and smiled at him, softening his face in a way that made Clint’s breath catch with how handsome he was. “Miss Romanov cares very deeply for you,” said Bucky. “She would not subject you to that. And she and Fury care little for their reputations.”

Clint nodded, because that much had become clear when Natasha had been the sole female guest at their cards evening, and had stayed overnight as well. The local gossips would have likely made much of that, especially as she had travelled down to Brooklyn with a notorious bachelor like Earl Stark.

Bucky ran his hand through Clint’s hair. “You are loved by more than me.”

“So it would seem,” said Clint because he couldn't deny the evidence, and kissed him instead of adding that he really had no idea why. Bucky kissed him back and for a minute or two, Clint lost all track of where he was and what was happening outside the room in favour of enjoying Bucky’s lips and holding him close, running his hands over the powerful lines of his back.

Bucky pulled away before Clint was ready, clearing his throat and stepping back. “We should not continue,” he said. “We will cause an even greater scandal.”

Clint laughed. “We’re married,” he said. “How is it a scandal that we should kiss each other?”

“That we are married would only make it more of a scandal,” said Bucky, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. “It would be far more understandable to those fools in the ballroom if we were using this chance to engage in extramarital affairs. No one in society stays happy with their spouse for more than a month without attracting comment.”

Clint wondered how long it had taken after his parents’ wedding for them to become unhappy. A month sounded rather too long. “We’ve been married far longer than that, and I only seem to be getting happier to be with you,” he said.

Bucky’s face lit up, as Clint had known it would. “I’m so glad,” he said. “That was all I wanted for you. For this marriage to make you happy.”

“It really has,” said Clint, taking his hand and pulling him in close again, because scandal be damned, he wanted to kiss his husband. “It’s not marriage but you that has made me happy,” he corrected, and kissed Bucky again.

****

They remained in the room long enough for some of the guests to have left by the time they emerged. The noise of the ball was still more than Clint’s ears could process, especially after several hours of it, but he wasn’t ready to leave just yet. Not when he still had a chance for another dance or two with Bucky.

Natasha caught his eye as they went back into the ballroom and signed, “Are you all right?” with swift motions.

Clint caught several curious onlookers turning at the movement and straightened his spine, holding the thought that anyone who found gossip in his disability were the ones in the wrong, and replied to her.

“I’m fine, but my ears are a little overwhelmed.”

She tipped her head in acknowledgement. “Carriages are in half an hour, so it won’t be much longer.”

Clint glanced at the clock and nodded, then looked at Bucky to see him watching his and Natasha’s hands with a faint frown. “Would you like to dance?” he signed to him, and the frown disappeared as if it had never been.

“I would love to,” said Bucky. He glanced around and caught Rogers’s eye, nodding at the dance floor, and Rogers immediately took Wilson’s hand and pulled him in that direction.

“Your friends don’t need to provide a barrier for us,” said Clint as they headed in the same direction, although he did much prefer the idea of having a couple he knew next to him to help him get the dance right, and not to mind when he blundered the wrong way into one of them.

Bucky turned to him to reply, signing at the same time. “They are _our_ friends, not just mine.”

He didn’t comment on the rest of it, and when he and Clint formed up for the next dance, Rogers and Wilson were on one side of them, and Natasha and Stark were on the other. 

Stark had made a brief attempt to stand in the leading partner’s line, but Natasha just stared at him for a long moment until he gave up and shuffled next to Clint. He glanced at him and said something, but all Clint caught of it was, “...dance…”

He just shrugged at Stark awkwardly, wondering how long it would take before Stark and the others, who had all been so kind, got bored of trying to communicate with him and just gave up, cutting him out of conversations the way his family had used to.

Stark looked over at Natasha and said something that made her roll her eyes, and then sign at Clint, “Stark says that he’d have asked you to dance this evening, but he was worried about Bucky stabbing him.”

Clint blinked with surprise and looked back at Stark who raised his eyebrows then glanced at Bucky, who was frowning at them both. Why would anyone want to dance with him when he had made it so clear that he didn’t know most of the steps? It didn’t even make sense to him that Bucky would, although he couldn’t deny how eager Bucky had been, but Stark wasn’t in love with him, why would he want a dance?

“You don’t need to take pity on me,” he said. “I’m not so keen on dancing that I’d inflict my terrible skills on you.”

Stark rolled his eyes and looked back at Natasha, saying something else for her to translate.

“He says that he’s not interested in pity, he just likes dancing with his friends.” She paused and then added, “He always dances with as many of us as he can manage. He’s been trying to persuade Barnes to dance since he came back from Spain, but Barnes was very clear that there was only one person he’d ever dance with.”

Clint looked back at Bucky and the faint frown he was giving Natasha’s hands, clearly frustrated that he didn’t understand what he was saying. Clint hadn’t really considered that this evening might be Bucky’s first dance in a long time as well.

The music struck up, another layer of sound that made Clint wince and think that perhaps he should be thinking about leaving the ball sooner rather than later. He wanted to dance with his husband at least once more first, though.

The buzzing in his ears had grown to such a state that he could barely keep track of the music, so he concentrated instead on taking his cues from the movements of the others, trying to keep a vague idea of the rhythm in his head so he didn’t lose track. It wasn’t easy, particularly as he was still floundering over some of the steps, but getting to see Bucky’s quiet smile as he took his hand to cross over with him, or tucked an arm around his waist for a promenade was more than worth it.

After the dance was over, and they’d bowed to their partners, Clint looked at Stark and said, “I’d agree to dance with you at the next occasion, but I suspect I’ll only be interested in dancing with my husband then as well.”

It was worth the eye roll from Stark to see Bucky’s smile at that.

“Married people shouldn’t be allowed to be so in love,” said Stark to Natasha as they all moved away from the dancefloor. She glanced at Clint, then signed out a translation as he spoke. “It’s unsettling. I mean, what’s next? Politicians fulfilling their promises? Vicars genuinely caring about their flock?”

Wilson glared at him and Stark grinned back unrepentantly.

There was a loud burst of amusement from a group of men nearby and Clint’s ears protested, making him wince as one of them exclaimed something loudly. He lost track of the conversation for a moment as his head throbbed with pain. Damnit, he was going to have to retire.

Bucky caught his elbow and when Clint glanced at him, he signed, “Are you well?” then frowned and said, carefully shaping his lips to the words so that Clint could read them, “That is a silly question. You obviously are not. Do you want to leave?”

Clint hesitated, because he didn’t want the night to end just yet, not when they were part of a group of friends talking and smiling together, but his head was aching, his neck and shoulders were tensed so tightly that pain was radiating down his back, and his ears were buzzing with overuse. He reluctantly nodded. “You should stay,” he said. “Don’t let me interrupt your fun.”

“Why would I want ... without you?” asked Bucky, and just trying to read it from his lips sent a stab of pain through Clint’s head. He winced and Bucky frowned with frustration, raising his hand as if to sign then dropping it with a scowl and turning to Natasha instead. He said something to her and she signed it to Clint.

“Bucky is offering to stay down here for another half hour or hour if you’d prefer to be alone for a while,” she said. “He’ll happily do it as well, but I think you already know he’d prefer to be with you. He’s not exactly subtle.”

Clint looked at Bucky, at the concerned look on his face and the way he was carefully keeping his distance but that his hand occasionally twitched towards Clint as if desperate to touch him. She was right, Clint did know exactly what Bucky would prefer, but also that he would do anything Clint asked if it were what he said he needed.

His chest filled with a warm rush of emotion. “Let’s go to bed, handsome,” he signed to Bucky. He wanted to be somewhere dark and quiet, but most of all he wanted to have Bucky’s arm around him, holding him warm and safe.

“Of course, sweetheart,” signed Bucky, and Clint caught Natasha sighing heavily out of the corner of his eye, then turning to say something to Stark that made him snigger. Perhaps it was indiscreet to use such nicknames with each other in public, where anyone sufficiently knowledgeable in sign language would understand them, but Clint wasn’t ashamed to display affection to his husband. No matter what Stark might think of the inappropriateness of it.

They said goodbye to the others or, rather, Bucky said goodbye to the others and Clint gave them all wan smiles, just gesturing to his ears and shrugging when they tried to speak to him. Rogers asked Natasha something and she signed, “Good night,” and a moment later Rogers repeated the sign, followed by Wilson and Stark.

It was such a small gesture but something about the simplicity of it sent a wave of emotion swelling up inside Clint, because it was more than he’d ever have expected from a group of friends. It was more than he’d had from anyone except Barney before Bucky had arrived in his life. 

It was with a sense of shock that he realised Bucky had been right earlier. These were his friends as well as Bucky’s.

He returned the sign to them, then left the ballroom with Bucky beside him, trying not to feel overwhelmed by the rush of emotions.

****

Coulson and Falsworth were waiting in the room to help them prepare for bed. Bucky and Falsworth disappeared into the dressing room again, and Clint took a moment to breathe out a long sigh, feeling the quiet of the room settle around him like a layer of protection. God, it felt like every part of him ached from the evening’s assault on his ears.

It must have been clear from his demeanour just how much his ears were aching, because Coulson helped him to undress and put on his nightgown without saying anything out loud, using exclusively sign language. Clint conveyed his gratitude with a smile before letting him go for the night.

Lucky was already fast asleep in front of the fire, but Clint still found himself sinking down next to him, even if he couldn’t bring himself to wake him up by petting him. Instead he concentrated on trying to relax his shoulders and neck, rubbing a hand awkwardly across his muscles and letting out a series of deep, steadying breaths.

There was a movement to his right and he looked around to find that Bucky had come into the room at some point. He hadn’t heard the door at all over the buzzing in his ears, and he made a rueful face at him.

“I can’t hear much of anything right now,” he said, before Bucky could attempt a conversation. “And my focus is shot, I doubt I’ll be able to manage to read your lips very well.”

Bucky nodded, then hesitated and gestured at where Clint was still rubbing at his neck muscles. “May I?” he signed.

Clint hesitated, then dropped his hand. “Go ahead.” Bucky had said that Falsworth gave him shoulder rubs when he was experiencing pain, so he would know what he was doing.

Bucky flashed a smile at him, then moved behind him to start rubbing over Clint’s neck and shoulders. His hand was large and warm, and he knew how to apply just the right amount of pressure to rub out all the stress in Clint’s muscles. He couldn’t keep in a moan of relief as they loosened and he dropped his head to allow Bucky better access. Bucky’s hand paused for a moment, then he continued, slowly rubbing all the tension of the evening out as Clint relaxed more and more, slumping down until he was in danger of toppling forward.

Bucky tapped his arm and Clint glanced around to see him sign, “Bed,” with a question on his face.

Clint nodded and somehow managed to stagger to his feet and over to the bed, laying down on the covers with a sigh. Bucky sat next to him on the bed and gently directed him to lie on his stomach, then settled in to massage his muscles again, until Clint felt as if he were going to melt into the mattress.

“That feels so good,” he murmured as Bucky found a particularly stubborn knot and rubbed it into submission. “Oh god, Bucky, your hand is magical. Thank you.”

The movement of Bucky’s hand paused for a moment, and Clint rolled his head to look up at him. The look on his face was so open and honest, spilling out affection and a sort of breathless wonder, that Clint couldn’t resist reaching out for him, taking his hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

“Thank you,” he said again. “That feels much better.”

Bucky managed a smile. “You’re welcome,” he signed, then hesitated before adding, “Thank you for letting me help, sweetheart.”

Now that some of the stress had been melted out of Clint’s neck, he was able to fully appreciate the way the lamplight shone on Bucky’s face, highlighted the planes of it, his cheekbones and jawline, and the shine of his eyes. This man was so handsome and kind, and somehow he was in love with Clint. A wave of affection broke in Clint’s chest and he sat up, setting a hand to the side of Bucky’s face and leaning in to kiss him, trying to express some of what he was feeling.

“Thank you for taking me to my first ball,” he said, then kissed him again, “thank you for dancing with me even though I am not good at it.” He took his time with the next kiss, keeping it slow and thorough even as Bucky kissed him back, wrapping his arm around Clint’s waist. “Thank you for marrying me,” he said once he pulled away.

Bucky’s smile was the soft, private one. “I should definitely thank you for that,” he said, but even the soft tone of his voice was too much for Clint’s ears just then. He must have seen Clint’s flinch, because he winced in apology, then leaned in to kiss Clint again, deepening it until Clint was holding on to his shoulder, skin tingling with the sensations Bucky’s lips and tongue were awakening in him.

After the massage, and the earlier interlude in the drawing room, he could feel his body aching to be close to Bucky’s, and he wrapped an arm around Bucky to pull him in close, their chests pressing together with nothing but the thin linen of the nightshirts between them. He could feel the muscles of Bucky’s chest shifting as he ran his hand over Clint’s back and up into his hair and couldn’t resist copying his motion, tracing out the shape of his body as they kissed.

Bucky let out a quiet noise as Clint’s hand dipped low enough to follow the shape of his hip to the top of one broad thigh and he hastily moved it back up to less inappropriate areas, even as he yearned to feel the muscles he’d spent so long staring at when Bucky wore his tight riding breeches.

Bucky didn’t seem to mind, though, if the way he pushed in closer to Clint’s hand was anything to go by, and his mouth left Clint’s to trail along the line of his jaw, and then down to his neck for a moment before he pulled away long enough to sign, “Is this all right?”

“More than,” said Clint. Bucky hesitated for another moment, looking torn, but Clint wanted nothing more than to feel him close against him, to take this further than they had been and find out what it was like to be with his husband like this. “I’ll tell you if I want to stop,” he said, “and you’ll do the same?”

Bucky was already leaning back in as he nodded, kissing Clint’s mouth again before returning his attentions to his neck, kissing his way down the line of it. Clint had never really considered his neck when picturing the ways that Bucky might make him feel good, but the soft press of his lips against it made him shiver with a tingling sensation that he could feel sending arousal to his cock.

Bucky paused at the junction of Clint’s neck and shoulder, pulling his nightgown to one side to press his lips there in a kiss, then sucking gently at the flesh as Clint let out a moan. He was holding on to Bucky’s waist now, too overcome to be able to concentrate on moving his own hands when Bucky was making him feel so good.

Bucky pulled away for just long enough to sign, “You’re beautiful,” then he moved in to press a kiss to the base of Clint’s throat, right between his collarbones.

Clint’s nightshirt had a set of four buttons at the collar, and Bucky unfastened them, pressing kisses to the skin he was revealing as he went. Clint was shuddering by the time he reached the lowest, wondering how something so small could make him feel so good. He buried his hands in Bucky’s hair as he leaned in to kiss his collarbone, pulling his nightshirt to one side to get to his shoulder.

“God, Bucky,” he gasped. He ran his hands down Bucky’s head and along his shoulders without thinking, down over the top of his arms until he reached the point where the left one was missing. Bucky froze still, then pulled away and Clint winced, dropping his hands away.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”

Bucky gave him a searching look, then shook his head. “I told you before, it doesn’t hurt to be touched,” he said, keeping his voice low enough that Clint could barely hear it, and had to concentrate on reading his lips instead. “It’s just-” he frowned and shook his head, clearly catching the frown of concentration on Clint’s face. He switched to sign language, keeping it simple. “Please don’t.”

Clint nodded. “I won’t,” he said. “If you don’t want me to, of course I wont.”

Bucky smiled at him but there was a shadow to it, and Clint was afraid that the moment had been lost. He’d been enjoying it, though, enjoying the sensations Bucky was creating, and the way he’d felt heat spiralling up in his belly, enjoyed being so close to him and with so little material between them. They’d never gone quite so far and he wanted to see what would happen if they pushed a little further. What else could Bucky do to him that would make him feel so good?

He leaned in to kiss him again, and found it was far easier than he would have considered to recapture the moment, once their mouths were moving together and he’d moved his hands down to Bucky’s waist, rubbing over the fabric of his nightshirt. Beneath it he could feel the strong muscles of Bucky’s stomach, and the image flashed into his mind of licking over them, without the nightshirt in the way.

That brought him abruptly to the idea of the part of Bucky’s body that was below that, the part that he could see pushing up the front of his nightshirt just as clearly as Clint’s was.

Just the thought of it sent a thrill of excitement through Clint and for a moment he considered reaching out to touch it, taking it in his hand and making Bucky feel good the way he made himself feel good. He reached out but his courage failed him at the last moment, and he curled his hand around Bucky’s thigh instead, clinging on as Bucky curled his hand around Clint’s head and kissed him deeply and thoroughly, tonguing sliding into his mouth as they both panted with the sensations.

Bucky’s hand glided all the way down Clint’s back and around to pause on to his hip as he turned the kiss even filthier for a few seconds, fingers tightened against Clint’s skin as everything became hotter and heavier. 

Clint’s legs were curled around him, his nightshirt pulled up to his knees, so that when Bucky continued his path down Clint’s body, following the line of his thigh, his fingers found bare skin when it hit his calf. Clint couldn’t keep in a shudder at the feel of his fingers trailing over the hair of his leg, going on down to curl around his ankle for a moment before starting the path back up again.

This time, though, when Bucky hit the hem of his nightshirt, he hesitated. He pulled away from Clint’s mouth and stared at him with dark eyes while Clint tried to catch his breath, still clinging to Bucky’s waist as if he might float away without an anchor.

“Clint,” mouthed Bucky without making any sound. “Sweetheart.”

Clint’s nightshirt neck was open enough to be hanging off his shoulder where Bucky had pulled it to one side earlier, and Bucky moved in to press a kiss to the line of his muscle. “Clint,” he mouthed again when he pulled back, and his fingers twitched against Clint’s skin, pushing just the tiniest amount under his nightshirt, over his knee. “May I?”

Clint was so hard that part of him wanted to pull away and hide himself, but this was his husband. The one person he could share this with. He nodded breathlessly, his heart in his throat, and Bucky smiled at him, bright and filled with such uncomplicated happiness that Clint just had to lean in to kiss it from his face.

As he did so, Bucky’s hand slid up a few more inches, then rested for a moment on the outside of his knee. Clint hadn’t realised just how intense and intimate it would feel to have someone else’s hand on a part of his body that he couldn't remember anyone but himself ever touching. He shivered again, clutching at Bucky’s waist with one hand and his shoulder with the other as he pressed closer into his kiss.

Bucky’s hand started moving higher again, fingertips trailing over his skin, and Clint felt as if he were going to explode with it, anticipation and trepidation rolling up together as Bucky stroked up the top of his thigh, all these emotions that Clint had never experienced crashing in on top of each other until Bucky’s fingers trailed around to the inside of his thigh and it was all abruptly too much.

It felt too personal, too intimate, and Clint was moving before he’d realised it, pushing Bucky away and shoving back on the bed, moving away until he was pressed against the headboard and Bucky was staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, then winced and signed it instead. “I’m sorry. Too fast, I’m sorry. Please-” He cut off then, making a frustrated face as he clearly didn’t have the signs for whatever he wanted to say.

He didn’t try and say whatever it was out loud, and Clint appreciated it. His ears were buzzing even more than they had been before, blood pumping through his veins fast enough to make his head throb and he had to stop and force his breaths to slow down. God, he was being stupid, so stupid. He knew Bucky wouldn’t hurt him, or touch him in any way Clint didn’t want, and he’d asked and Clint had said yes. Why had he reacted like that?

Bucky held his hand up, moving back down the bed. “I can go to Steve,” he signed and Clint immediately shook his head, because he didn’t want to spend the night alone while Bucky, no doubt, lay awake and immersed himself in guilt over this. “No,” he said, too quietly for himself to hear so that his ears wouldn’t object, but hopefully loud enough for Bucky. “Don’t go.” He took another deep breath and held a hand out to Bucky. “Will you hold me?”

Bucky came closer immediately, although he kept his movements slow and steady, until he was wrapped around Clint and Clint had both his arms around him, clinging on to his reassuring warmth.

“You were right,” said Clint. “Too fast. I thought I was ready, but apparently not yet. I’m sorry.”

Bucky shook his head, pulling back. “I’m sorry,” he signed, jabbing his finger hard into his chest to emphasise his point. “Not your fault.”

Clint wasn’t sure about that, because he’d given Bucky the opening and then pushed him away, but he nodded. He was beginning to feel more than a little silly about the whole thing, but he couldn’t bring himself to take them back to the mood of a moment ago. He just wanted to curl up in bed and get some sleep.

With Bucky beside him. He wanted that more than anything.

He shifted around, pulling the blankets back and nudging Bucky under them. Bucky caught on and shuffled over to his side as they climbed in, leaving a gap between them as they lay down and pulled the covers back over them. 

That wasn’t what Clint wanted at all. He reached up to blow out the lamp, then lay in the dark for a moment, feeling the cold space between him and Bucky like a physical thing. After a minute or two, he sent a hand gently reaching across it, feeling around until he found Bucky’s left shoulder, then travelling across his body to find his arm and take his hand. He held onto it for a moment, and Bucky held on back, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. Clint tugged gently on his hand, holding his breath in case he was sending the wrong message or even just asking all wrong.

Bucky seemed to know what he wanted immediately though, because he rolled over onto his side, shuffling closer to Clint until he could drape his arm around him. Clint turned so he could press his back against Bucky’s chest, feeling him nestled up behind him with his arm resting gently over Clint’s waist, and let out a long sigh.

Bucky pressed a gentle kiss against the back of his neck and Clint felt the last tension from the abruptness of his reaction seep away. He found himself once again wondering how he had managed to be so lucky as to be married to Bucky as his eyes slid shut, and that warm burst of affection spread out in his chest again.

Relaxing back into Bucky’s embrace, he found himself wondering where the line lay, exactly, between affection and love. He couldn’t remember ever feeling anything this strong for anyone else, after all.


End file.
